Hey, guys.

So, new story. You'll be pleased to know (or maybe not) that this is just about the complete OPPOSITE of Acheronta Movebo, my current glory child. This is going to be fluff for days, because after all that doom and gloom I needed something cutesy to hold on to. Don't fret, though, there IS an actual storyline, actual plot, and my characters are never perfect as I wish they were. If you're new here, welcome to the club. I'm Alyssa, you'll learn to put up with me. I'm loveable, I promise. If you're coming from Acheronta Movebo, buckle up your seatbelts, friends, because you are about to be blown away, because "she can write things besides angst?"

…I didn't realize it either until now.

I hope you guys enjoy this, because I definitely do!

~Alyssa

PS: This is the preface. My prefaces are always short as they can possibly be. The chapters WILL be longer. I promise.

ABOUT THE STORY:

The King's Bride takes place in between Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess, and in their point of view, with the exception of this preface. It's a complete and total AU, a different incarnation of Link and Zelda, but will have decent ties to OoT by way of Ganondorf, who plays a large part in the history. This fic draws inspiration from the Gerudo tribe, and about half, the later part, will take place in the desert with the girls. I'm going to be expanding largely on my idea of the Gerudo culture, as well as play into the stereotypes and misconceptions of the Hylians. (So anything you've ever heard about the Gerudo, whether it be in-game or fanfiction, throw it out now. I'm rewriting the entire story) This is going to be a ridiculously fluffy, cheesy love story. But you know me. (If you don't, stick around, you'll see). I'm not cliché. Though this one WILL have a happy ending (grumble) I promise I won't make it THAT unbearable.

maybe.

o)oo(o

"…The Gerudo, as a whole, are considered by many as a polygamous race, as they do not marry. Instead, a single Gerudo woman can mother a dozen daughters by different men in her lifetime. This, however, pales in comparison to their king. The King of the Gerudo, the one male of the race, can easily father twice as many children before he even comes of age (which is considered fifteen, for more information see Chapter 7, "How We Differ"). After this comes the one exception of the rule. Upon coming of age, the King is expected to take a non-Gerudo wife. Little is known about the King's bride, though we do understand that she is the one to produce the King's heir, the first child between the two always being a son that continues on the dynasty, and that she is always unwillingly taken, snatched from her bed by a group of bandits and taken away to the desert, ripped from life as she knows it quite awfully to live with barbarians…"

~An excerpt from "The People Cloaked in Sand: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Gerudo" by Dr. Baelor Winslow, Hylian Curator of the Castle Town Museum of History.

o)oo(o

It was time, he knew.

He had waited for this moment for months. Months of careful planning and consideration, mapping out the hurdles and the possible repercussions and crafting contingencies from B to Z. Failure was not an option. This was his one opportunity; if he failed, he would never get another chance.

And so he would not fail.

He sat high in the branches of a tree that shadowed the great, old manor house, as far out on his limb as one would dare from thirty feet high, watching, waiting, as one by one the lights behind the windows extinguished, until the entire house was dark.

Except for one. Third floor, second window from the left. The curtains weren't even drawn.

He had to laugh. It was just too simple.

She was there, he saw, sitting in front of her looking glass, methodically pulling a brush through her long ebon curls. Her bed had already been pulled down, her fire extinguished, her stays undone. Only a thin slip of a robe covered her now, pulled tight against the evening chill, accentuating the body normally hidden under her satins and silks. Once again, he nodded in approval at his choice.

Amble breasts, a slim waist, but strong hips. She would mother strong children.

The rest of the manor was silent as he leapt lithely down from his vantage and crept across the grass to the wall, hoisting himself up onto the stone. The place was blatantly built with beauty in mind, not defensibility—all the unnecessary statuettes and panelings that decorated the outside made for perfect footholds for any intruder that cared.

It was almost comical how quickly he scaled the wall, two minutes at the most, even including the time he spent avoiding the giant windows that opened out to the gardens—another mistake. If he had wanted, he could have launched a full scale assault on the place and forced them to their knees in minutes. There was no way they could enforce the fragile, decorative glass.

He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face at the idea.

Foolish, naive, acquisitive Hylians. Their vanity would be their undoing. Though not today. However unfortunate, he had other plans.

Hoisting himself onto the balcony outside her bedroom, he peered inside, as far out in the open as he dared while he recounted his attack.

He would do it as quickly as possible, with as little bloodshed as possible. Not his way of doing things, for sure, but his advisors had been adamant. As foolish as they were, Hylians were proud creatures, and with his people and theirs already at the brink of war he could not afford to give them any more sparks to set them alight.

But there was no reason for there to be any trouble. There would be no guards outside her door; Percel was a minor house and careless besides. They feared for their sons, not their daughters, yet another critical mishap on their part. The girl was promised to Daphnes Nohansen, the Hylian King. It was said that he had fallen in love with her at first sight, gotten down on his knees and begged her for her hand.

How stupid of him for not sending a cavalry to protect her. What one King wanted, the better King stole.

And what better way could he slight the stupid man by putting another King to slight his sons in the girl's belly? Especially now that there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it?

Oh, how beautifully unfortunate the whole thing would be. What he wouldn't pay to be able to linger and watch.

However, as much as he wanted to, there would be no time to revel in his success. If somehow Nohansen caught wind that she was missing, that cavalry he didn't send to protect her would be sent out to take her back. King he might be, but he was only one man. No matter who he was, he was no match for an army.

Yes, he too had an army at his disposal, but to call upon his warriors to take the girl back to the desert? Never. This was the King's first mission, the threshold of boyhood to manhood, the one heist he would have to perform alone…and he had already done it once. Failing was not an option. And that, in turn, meant that gloating was not an option either.

Regretful. This specific Nohansen he had a particular dislike for—being able to see the look on his face while he dragged his precious betrothed off at knifepoint to the desert would have brought him a certain amount of pleasure.

But no matter. He won either way.

Sliding through the open door, he had held back a snort of laughter at the realization. He had won. She was all but his. All he had to do now was take her.

Her back was still turned as he slowly approached, still pulling the brush through her hair and drowning in her reflection until he was just behind her, a hair's breadth away. And he waited, watching his own reflection beside hers, just visible in the corner of the glass.

Until that delicious moment when she suddenly tensed, her lips falling open to form a perfectly rounded 'o'.

The hairbrush fell from her hand, to the dropping ground with a tinny clatter.

A split second later he had lunged, wrapping his arm around her neck and covering her mouth with his hand. Her eyes, as dark and brown as melted chocolate, were wide as saucers, either too shocked or too frightened to make a sound as he dragged her across the room.

And as he untied the scarf that was draped across his body from around his hips, he finally began to laugh. She was the ultimate prize; meek, beautiful, and beloved by his enemy. And now she was his.

"My Queen," he murmured in her ear, his amber eyes glinting maliciously in the candlelight.

The scarf was stuffed into her mouth before she had the chance to scream.

Leave a word, if you will! I'm dying to hear about what you guys think, and I really need constructive criticism!
Seeya guys next chapter!