Her eyes were poetry she would share with the world.
Although it could only be felt and not seen, they danced through the hues with exhilarating ease, from the dullest grey, to a serene jade, to the brightest green. They were hot and fierce, and oh, how they burned, the poet would see. Burned with passion, for her kingdom and research – and burned with grace, as befitting of a princess blessed by the Goddess herself. Her fire was contagious and inspiring, so much that he had written about it more times than he could count.
But one day, the Sheikah saw in her eyes a different type of flame.
It didn’t burn the same way – his soul didn’t bathe in its warmth the way it could before. The mysterious fire plagued his mind for a while. What could it possibly be?
A thought would cross his mind from time to time, and he would shoot it down just as fast as it appeared, as to avoid possibly feeding it. He couldn’t get… hopeful.
He expected to find some answers in his own writing, desperately looking for anything remotely similar to the unfamiliar fire in those green eyes. That writing was different from the one he would show to the Royal Family – it was raw and emotional, and featured the Princess’s eyes to an almost uncomfortable degree.
But despite his numerous accounts on her piercing gaze, he couldn’t find anything that helped with his issue. He allowed himself to sit back and think.
The same thought came to him, and this time, he reluctantly allowed it to flourish, seemingly out of options. Could it be…?
There weren’t many people around her age in the castle, let alone the ones who would actually interact with her. The only two he could think of was himself, and…
He laughed at the thought, foolish at it was – the boy wasn’t even nobility, and clearly didn’t look like a sensible man of the arts like himself. Could that Hylian write his feelings onto paper as well as he did? Could he speak in a manner as refined and enthralling as the Sheikah had learned with the years living in the better parts of the castle?
No, scrap that – could that kid even speak? He probably had chosen not to after realizing how much more eloquent and wise the Princess was. What a ridiculous idea that was.
And yet, quick as lightning, the Sheikah’s chest tightened as he imagined the two lying on a grassy field and staring at the clouds, with the boy casually calling the Princess by her first name.
He quickly got up from his desk, his heart heavy. He paced around in his room, staring at the floor with a wide-eyed stare. He wouldn’t even call her that in his dreams.
The poet’s imagination got increasingly vile, depicting the pair sitting together in front of a fire in a small cave. The two stared deeply into each other’s eyes, fingers intertwined. The Princess pulled the knight’s face closer until their lips crashed into a passionate kiss, quickly being followed by—
No, no, no.
He took a deep breath, and a reassuring laugh as he ran his fingers through his hair.
Preposterous. Not just the bizarre scenarios his mind had brewed, but the whole idea of the Princess having feelings for her appointed knight. His breathing felt less heavy now, and he shook his head with a smile as he stared to the ceiling, as if silently making fun of himself for having such fanciful thoughts.
He recalled the Princess seemingly despising the knight, judging by the cold stares she would give him each day as they were to leave the Castle. The Sheikah had barely seen them lately, being occupied with his own art, but nothing could have changed that drastically, right?
But then… what could possibly explain the foreign warmth in her eyes as he passed by her earlier in the evening? What else could it possibly be, if not that?
His chest tightened again. It was futile to fight against the increasingly real possibility that the Princess was in love – and not with him, a sensible talented artist – but with an awkward boy with a sword that seemed too big for him. With Link.
The poet caught his reflection in the mirror – he looked distressed. His hair was disheveled, his face was paler and his eyes… he saw them green. Not a beautiful, blooming green like the Princess’s, but a sick, spiteful shade that he would never want her to lay eyes upon, lest she find out about his true feelings.
He looked away from the repulsive image in the mirror. His eyes were before full of love and admiration, but now… now they were this. Dancing between shades as swiftly as hers, but picking the wrong colors. He sighed, slowly making his way back to the desk.
His eyes were poetry he would keep to himself.