Prologue - The Crown Princess
A succinct way to sum up Zelda's childhood would be with the concept of balance. In the mornings, she ate lavishly--but kept a balance. For each slice of the cook's thick, nutty bread. Zelda was served a variety of fruits. For each mug of pressed apple cider, one twice as large of water. And so the day continued in this fashion. One hour of bow training, one of harp practice.
But it was no coincidence that the princess lived this way.
Zelda had been raised so that balance was not a state of mind. It was a religion. A philosophy so engrained in the sturdy child that by the age of ten she sat aside her father on the days when he heard the public's quarrels and complaints. Overcome with shyness she would listen closely and on occasion whisper reparations to her father that even he had not thought of.
Though few heard her
voice, all praised the fairness of her judgement. This small girl,
the people's crown princess, became an icon of hope in the generation
to come. One portrait in particular from this time period resonated
with the public.
Zelda sat atop the throne she would one day inherit, pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair, all in stark contrast to the Official Robe of the Court--the garb that marked one as the judge, jury, and executioner. The purple velour drowned her, the sash had been propped to give the illusion she was wearing it. This portrait revealed Zelda for what she truly was--a tiny, frail drop in a crushing ocean of politics.