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The Princess's Test: Part 2 – The Feet of Destiny
The second test was about to begin, but this time, Princess Zelda had an amused grin dancing across her lips. There would be no mercy today, no delicate grace or washed feet. She had spent the entire week preparing her ultimate weapon—her feet—by encasing them in her filthiest boots. Every step she took in those boots had been a deliberate act of fermentation, sealing her natural odour beneath layers of leather, sweat, and grime. It had been a hot week, and her feet had been baking in that heat, marinating in their own juices until they reached the point where even she could catch a whiff of them through her boots.
The competition was shrinking, but the intensity was rising. Zelda was well aware that only a few of her suitors had made it this far, but today, she wasn’t just testing their stamina. She was testing their very will to exist under the sheer power of her foot stench.
Before beginning, Zelda decided to take a walk around the village, relishing the anticipation. Her long, delicate toes twitched in her boots, her soles slick with the accumulated sweat from days of confinement. Every step squelched slightly as her moist feet shifted inside the leather prisons, the damp heat from her boots practically radiating through the air. She could feel her socks sticking to her soles, soaked through and heavy with the smell she had so carefully cultivated.
As she approached the village, the atmosphere shifted. The villagers knew what was coming. Knees hit the dirt before her, heads bowed, trembling with reverence and fear. They had been through this before. She relished the looks of dread mixed with anticipation on their faces. Some had faint memories of her scent from earlier encounters; others had yet to endure the punishment of being near her unwashed feet. But today, all of them would experience the full might of the princess.
She halted in front of the first man who dared lift his gaze slightly. His face was pale, lips trembling. Without a word, Zelda lifted her foot, still encased in the worn leather boot, and pressed it against his chest, forcing him onto his back. She could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath her sole as she towered over him, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Kiss it,” she ordered, her voice like a sharp, commanding whip.
The man hesitated, but only for a moment. Her presence demanded obedience. He pressed his trembling lips against the dirty leather of her boot, the faint scent of her week-old foot sweat already seeping through. The leather was damp to the touch, carrying the acrid stench that had permeated it over time. His nostrils flared as the odour hit him like a tidal wave, his eyes watering.
“Smell it,” Zelda purred, dragging her foot upward so that the toe of her boot hovered just beneath his nose. “Breathe deep. Tell me how much you love it.”
The man gagged, his face contorting with disgust as the rancid smell invaded his senses. But he had no choice. Her foot pressed harder, and the look in her eyes left no room for defiance. He inhaled deeply, the fetid air filling his lungs. His stomach churned.
“I... I love it, Princess,” he choked out, barely able to form the words through his convulsing throat.
Zelda’s smile widened, dark and menacing. “I don’t believe you.”
She knelt slightly, putting her full weight onto her boot as she pressed the reeking leather against his face. “Say it again. Louder. Convince me.”
Tears streamed down the man’s face as he screamed, “I LOVE IT! I love the smell of your feet, Princess!”
Zelda finally lifted her foot, allowing him to breathe—though the scent of her feet still lingered in his nostrils, as if it had permanently attached itself to him. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, but she had already moved on to the next villager.
One by one, the people of the village were subjected to her feet. She made them kneel and worship her, pressing their faces into her boots, forcing them to inhale the unbearable stench. Some gagged, some fainted, but none were allowed to escape. And those who showed any hesitation, any sign of resistance, were made to endure further.
There was one man, though, who dared to show open defiance. As Zelda approached him, his head remained lifted, his eyes glaring up at her with something akin to hatred. He was young, strong, clearly not one to bend easily. But Zelda relished a challenge. She stopped in front of him, her boot poised just above his face, the odour already making his nostrils twitch.
“Bow,” she ordered coldly.
He didn’t move.
Zelda’s eyes darkened, and her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “Bow, or I’ll make sure you never stand again.”
Still, he remained defiant.
Without warning, she kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he could react, Zelda was on top of him, one boot planted firmly on his throat, the other pressing against his face. The scent hit him full force, the week-long stench of sweat and grime pressing into his skin as she ground her foot against him.
“Take him to the dungeon,” she ordered, her tone devoid of any warmth. “Teach him some manners. He’ll learn to love the smell of my feet… one way or another.”
Her guards rushed forward, dragging the struggling man away. Zelda knew exactly what awaited him in the dungeon—a slow, relentless breaking of his will, her feet the constant tool of his humiliation. She had done it many times before. It was only a matter of time before he, like the others, would be reduced to nothing more than a grovelling foot slave, addicted to the very scent that had once repulsed him.
With the village thoroughly dominated, Zelda returned to the castle. The second test awaited, and this time, there would be no hesitation, no pulling back. Her suitors had to endure the full wrath of her unwashed feet.
******
The throne room was quieter now, the air thick with anticipation as the remaining suitors waited nervously. Only ten remained, their faces pale with fear, anticipation and hope – they desperately wanted to succeed. Zelda took her place on her throne, crossing her legs lazily, her boots still firmly in place. The scent of her feet had already begun to fill the room, though they had yet to be fully revealed.
“Today,” she began, her voice smooth and deadly, “we will see who truly deserves to stand at my side. Only the strongest will survive this. Only the most dedicated. The rest of you… well, you’ll either walk away or end up in the dungeon.”
The room grew colder at her words.
“Come forward,” Zelda commanded, pointing to the first suitor.
The man stumbled forward, visibly trembling. Zelda’s foot lifted, and she slowly, deliberately began to unlace her boot. The smell hit the room instantly, a wave of acrid, rotten stench that made several of the suitors gag where they stood. Zelda paid no mind, her eyes focused solely on the man before her as she tugged her boot free, revealing her bare foot. Her skin was glistening with sweat, the pale flesh smeared with dirt from the long week spent trapped in her boots. Her toes wiggled slightly, almost teasingly, as the damp air hit them.
The man visibly recoiled at the sight—and the smell.
“Smell it,” Zelda ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The man hesitated, but a glare from Zelda sent him to his knees. He pressed his nose against her sole, inhaling the stench of her unwashed foot. The smell was overwhelming—like sour cheese, mixed with the pungent musk of sweat that had festered for days. His eyes watered, and his stomach turned, but Zelda’s foot pressed harder against his face, forcing him to endure it.
“Now, lick,” she said softly.
He didn’t dare disobey. His tongue darted out, dragging across the dirty, sweaty flesh of her sole. The taste of grime and salt filled his mouth, but he continued, too terrified to stop. Zelda sighed contentedly, her toes flexing as he worked his tongue between them, cleaning the filth from her foot with his mouth.
“You’re doing well,” Zelda mused, her voice dripping with amusement. “But you’ll have to do better if you want to truly please me.”
The next suitor was called forward, and the process repeated. Each one was made to kneel before her, to worship her feet, to lick the grime and sweat from between her toes. Some gagged, some faltered, but Zelda gave them no mercy. They would either endure her feet, or they would leave humiliated.
As the test went on, Zelda used each suitor as her personal footstool. She rested her filthy soles on their faces, pressing them into the floor as she conducted her meetings with peasants and delegations. Each suitor was given fifteen minutes of footstool duty, their faces red with shame as Zelda’s sweaty feet dominated them. The smell was unbearable for most, the taste of her sweat and grime lingering in their mouths long after they had been dismissed.
Zelda, for her part, enjoyed every moment. She loved the way they trembled beneath her, the way their faces twisted in disgust and submission as they licked her feet clean. She relished the power she held over them, knowing that at any moment, they belonged to her. The smell of her feet filled the throne room.
But some of them couldn’t take it. Several suitors fled, unable to bear the humiliation and the stench of Zelda’s unwashed feet any longer. Their faces were twisted in a mixture of disgust and defeat as they staggered away from the throne room, choking on the rancid odour that clung to them. Zelda’s laughter followed them out the door, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they escaped her test. She didn’t mind their departure; in fact, she relished it. The weaker ones would always crumble under her feet, but those who remained—those who endured—would be hers.
“Pathetic,” Zelda hissed as the last of the deserters left. “They’re not worthy of my time, let alone my feet.”
Only five suitors remained, their faces pale and drenched in sweat, but they stayed rooted to the spot, determined to pass her test despite the torment they were enduring. Link stood amongst them, his expression unreadable. He had been through worse with Zelda during their travels, and while the stench of her feet was overwhelming, it didn’t faze him the way it did the others. He had become… accustomed to it, if such a thing were possible.
Zelda’s eyes flicked over to him, narrowing with a mix of amusement and curiosity. She had always known Link to be resilient, but this time, she wasn’t just testing his strength. She was testing his very soul, seeing how far he could be pushed, how much he could endure. And she was determined to push him to his limits.
“Link,” she purred, her voice soft but laced with something disturbing too, “come forward.”
Without hesitation, Link stepped forward, his eyes meeting hers with the same quiet determination that had carried him through countless battles. Zelda’s smile widened as she slowly lifted her other foot, the boot still in place, and began to peel it off. The smell hit the room like a wave of rot, the stench of her week-old sweat and grime thick enough to make the other suitors gag where they stood. Even Link’s nostrils flared slightly as the sour, cheesy odour filled the air, but he remained silent.
Zelda dangled the boot in front of his face, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Smell it.”
Link hesitated for the briefest of moments, but then, without a word, he leaned in and inhaled deeply. The scent was vile, a mixture of unwashed leather, stale sweat, and the faint metallic tang of grime that had built up over the course of a week. It clung to the back of his throat, making his eyes water, but he didn’t falter.
“Good,” Zelda purred, watching him closely. “Now lick the inside. I want to see your tongue on the filth I’ve left behind.”
The order was humiliating, but Link obeyed without question. His tongue darted out, dragging across the inside of her boot, tasting the bitter salt of her sweat that had soaked into the leather. The texture was rough, the flavour foul, but he continued, his movements steady and unflinching.
Zelda’s toes wriggled in delight as she watched him, her other foot still resting lazily on her footstool’s head. “You always know how to please me, Link,” she cooed, her voice dripping with affection. “But we’re not finished yet.”
She tossed the boot aside and planted her bare foot firmly on his face, the sweaty, grime-caked sole pressing into his skin. The scent was overpowering, a mix of sour sweat and filth that had accumulated between her toes, but Link didn’t move. He remained perfectly still, allowing her foot to dominate him completely.
“Lick between my toes,” Zelda commanded, flexing her toes against his nose. “Clean every bit of dirt from them with your tongue.”
Link’s heart pounded in his chest, but he obeyed. His tongue slipped between her toes, dragging across the damp, grimy skin, tasting the accumulated sweat and dirt that clung to her. The taste was foul, but he kept going, his movements precise and deliberate. Zelda let out a soft sigh of pleasure, her toes curling around his tongue as he worked.
“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re better than the others. Stronger. But you still have much to prove.”
Link’s hands gripped her ankle as he continued to lick, his mind swimming in the thick stench that filled the air around him. He could feel the grime beneath his tongue, the salty tang of her sweat clinging to his mouth, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. This was his test, his moment to prove himself worthy of standing by her side—even if that meant enduring the humiliation of being beneath her feet.
Zelda’s gaze flicked to the remaining suitors, her smile widening as she watched them squirm in discomfort. They were trying their best to remain composed, but the smell was clearly getting to them. The room was thick with the odour of her feet, the stench seeping into their clothes, their skin, their very souls.
One of the suitors—a tall, broad-shouldered man—was visibly shaking, his face pale and covered in sweat. Zelda’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she pointed at him, her foot still pressing into Link’s face. “You,” she called out. “Come here.”
The man hesitated, his body trembling with fear. He had already watched several of his comrades fail, their spirits broken by the sheer power of Zelda’s feet, and he knew he was next. But he had no choice. With a shaky breath, he stepped forward and knelt before her, his eyes locked on the ground.
Zelda slowly lifted her foot from Link’s face and placed it on the man’s head, forcing him to bow even lower. The stench of her sweat clung to the air around them, heavy and suffocating. “You will clean my feet with your mouth,” she ordered, her voice cold and commanding. “And you will love every second of it. Do you understand?”
The man nodded weakly, his entire body trembling as Zelda’s foot slid down to his face, the filthy sole pressing against his lips. “Now, kiss it,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for defiance.
With a visible shudder, the man pressed his lips to her sole, the taste of dirt and sweat filling his mouth. He gagged but kept going, his tongue darting out to lick the grime from her foot. Zelda’s smile widened as she watched him struggle, her toes flexing slightly as he cleaned between them.
“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, her foot pressing harder against his face. “You’re weak. But you’ll learn to love this. In time, you’ll beg for the privilege of being beneath my feet.”
The man’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear and revulsion, but he continued licking, his movements frantic and desperate. Zelda’s foot slid down to his throat, her toes curling around his neck as she looked down at him with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
“Ewh,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re not worthy of my time.”
She lifted her foot and gestured to the guards standing by the door. “Take him away,” she ordered. “He needs... training.”
The guards quickly seized the man, dragging him away as he sobbed in humiliation. Zelda watched him go, her smile never fading. She knew exactly what awaited him in the dungeon. Weeks of torment, locked in a cell surrounded by her stinkiest boots and socks, his only purpose to breathe in the stench until his mind broke completely.
Zelda turned her attention back to the remaining suitors. Only three were left now, their faces pale with fear. They knew they were running out of time. If they couldn’t prove themselves soon, they would face the same fate as the others.
“I’m feeling generous today,” Zelda said, her voice light but dripping with menace. “You may walk away now if you wish. But know this—those who leave will not be forgotten. I have ways of ensuring that you will learn to love my feet.”
One of the remaining suitors, his face twisted with shame, quickly rose to his feet and fled the throne room without a word. Zelda chuckled darkly as he ran, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Another weakling,” she muttered. “I’ll deal with him later.”
Only two suitors remained now—Link, and another man who had proven himself surprisingly resilient. Zelda’s eyes narrowed as she studied them both, her mind already calculating how best to break them.
“Come forward,” she ordered, her gaze locking onto the second man.
The man stepped forward, his expression stoic, though the beads of sweat on his brow betrayed his inner turmoil. Zelda slowly lifted both feet, crossing them in his lap as she leaned back in her throne, her toes flexing lazily in front of his face.
“Let’s see how well you handle this,” she purred.
Without hesitation, the man began to massage her feet, his fingers trembling slightly as they kneaded the soft, sweat-dampened flesh of her soles. The smell was overwhelming, but he didn’t flinch. He worked his hands over her feet, pressing into the tender spots, his thumb tracing the lines of her toes with careful precision.
Zelda watched him closely, her eyes narrowing as she assessed his performance. He was good—perhaps too good. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who had experience, but there was something in his expression that intrigued her. He wasn’t just enduring her feet. He was enjoying it.
Zelda’s smile faded slightly, her gaze darkening as she leaned forward, her toes brushing against his lips. “You’re hiding something,” she murmured, her voice dripping with suspicion as her toes pressed more firmly against his lips. “You think you can deceive me?”
The man didn’t flinch, though his hands trembled slightly as he continued to massage her feet, his tongue brushing against the tip of her toe. Zelda’s eyes narrowed further, sensing the shift in his demeanour. There was something off about him, something beneath the surface that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Speak,” she commanded, her tone growing harsher. “What is it you’re hiding from me? You think you can endure my feet without breaking, without being humbled like the others?”
The man hesitated, his eyes flickering upward to meet hers for a brief moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lowered his head and kissed the ball of her foot, his lips lingering longer than necessary, as if savouring the moment. His eyes closed, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips.
Zelda’s expression hardened. He wasn’t just enduring her feet—he was enjoying them. Worse, he was trying to hide it.
“You think this is a game?” she hissed, yanking her foot away and standing up abruptly. The sheer force of her movement made him stumble backward, his eyes wide in shock. “Do you think you can pretend to enjoy this and deceive me into thinking you’re strong? That you’re worthy of standing by my side?”
The man opened his mouth to protest, but Zelda wasn’t interested in his excuses. She had dealt with pretenders before—men who thought they could endure her tests by feigning submission, by acting like they craved her feet. But she had a way of breaking them all, and this one would be no different.
“Enough!” she barked, pointing at the guards. “Take him to the dungeon. I’ll deal with him later.”
The guards seized the man, dragging him away as he struggled to explain himself. His pleas fell on deaf ears as Zelda turned her attention back to Link, the last remaining suitor.
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of the situation settling between them like a thick fog. Link stood motionless, his face impassive, though his eyes were focused and unwavering. He had watched every suitor before him fall—crushed by Zelda’s dominance, broken by the overwhelming stench of her feet. But not him. He had survived everything so far, and Zelda could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going to give in easily.
Zelda’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile as she returned to her throne, her eyes never leaving Link. She reclined in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her bare foot dangling lazily in front of him. The smell radiating from her sole was intense, the mixture of week-old sweat and grime wafting through the air like a suffocating cloud.
“Link,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “You’ve always been different from the others. Stronger, more resilient. But we both know this test isn’t about strength.”
She wiggled her toes in front of his face, the sweat glistening on her pale skin. “This is about my pleasure, my feet, your submission. And I know you’re capable of it. You’ve spent years by my side, haven’t you? You’ve already proven your loyalty in battle. But loyalty on the battlefield is different. This is where true devotion lies.”
Zelda pressed her foot against his face, the sole of her foot resting heavily on his cheek. The smell of her unwashed feet enveloped him completely, the acrid scent of sweat and dirt filling his lungs with every breath. He didn’t recoil or flinch. Instead, he stood perfectly still, allowing her foot to dominate him.
“Tell me, Link,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Do you crave this? Do you secretly desire my feet, like all the others who have fallen before you? Or are you simply enduring this because you think you have no other choice?”
Link’s expression remained unreadable, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He had endured everything Zelda had thrown at him so far, but this—this was different. She wasn’t just testing his endurance anymore. She was testing his loyalty, his devotion, his very soul. And she was relentless.
Zelda’s toes flexed against his skin, the dampness of her sweat clinging to his face. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing. “Lick,” she commanded softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Without hesitation, Link obeyed. His tongue slid along the arch of her foot, tasting the bitter salt of her sweat and the faint grit of dirt that had accumulated between her toes. The flavour was foul, but he didn’t falter. He continued to lick, his movements steady and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers.
Zelda’s smile widened as she watched him, her foot pressing harder against his face. “Good,” she murmured. “You’ve always been so obedient, haven’t you? So quiet, so loyal. But I wonder… is this where you truly belong?”
Link didn’t respond, but his tongue kept moving, tracing the lines of her sole with a strange mixture of reverence and desperation. The stench was overwhelming, the taste of her sweat thick on his tongue, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. This was his test, his chance to prove himself, not just as a warrior, but as someone worthy of standing by Zelda’s side.
Zelda’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she felt his hesitation fade, replaced by something deeper—something more dangerous. She could see it in his eyes, the way they darkened with each lick, the way his body trembled beneath her foot. He wasn’t just enduring her feet anymore. He was giving in to them.
“You’ve always been mine, Link,” Zelda whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “But now, you’ll belong to my feet. Forever.”
Her foot slid deeper into his mouth, her toes pressing against his lips as the salty taste of her skin flooded his senses. He could feel the sweat clinging to the ridges of her toes, the faint grit of dirt still lingering despite her earlier bath. And yet, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he welcomed it, his lips closing softly around her toes as his mind spun with a mixture of shame and exhilaration.
Zelda’s eyes darkened as she watched him, her foot slowly sliding out of his mouth. “You’ve done well,” she said softly, her voice thick with satisfaction. “But this is only the beginning. If you want to truly belong to me, you’ll have to endure far more.”
She stood up abruptly, her foot pressing down on his head, forcing him to bow before her. “You will kneel before me, every day, every night. You will worship my feet, lick them clean, inhale their scent, and never dare to look away. You will become addicted to the stench, the taste, the feeling of being beneath me.”
Link’s head swam with the weight of her words, the overwhelming stench of her feet filling his nostrils, even as she stood above him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the smell, the taste, the feeling of her foot on his skin.
“You will be mine,” Zelda whispered, her voice like a soft caress, “and you will love every moment of it.”
With that, she lifted her foot and placed it gently on his shoulder. “Rise,” she commanded.
Link obeyed, his body trembling as he stood before her. His face was flushed, his heart pounding in his chest, but he remained silent. Zelda smiled up at him, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.
“You’ve proven yourself worthy,” she said softly, her tone suddenly gentle. “But remember, Link. This is only the beginning. There will be more tests, more trials. And you will endure them all—for me.”
She turned away, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone floor as she made her way back to her throne. The smell of her feet lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the power she held over him, over everyone.
As she sat down, her eyes flicked to the remaining suitor, the only other man left standing. His face was pale, his body trembling with fear and anticipation. Zelda’s smile widened as she crossed her legs, her foot dangling lazily in front of him.
“Your turn,” she purred, her voice dripping with menace and amusement.
The last suitor stood before Zelda, trembling as the oppressive stench of her feet filled the throne room. His face was pale, his eyes darting between Link, who had just endured the humiliating ordeal, and the princess lounging lazily on her throne, her foot dangling, still slick with sweat. The odour was unbearable, a thick, musky cloud that seemed to hang in the air, clinging to everything in the room.
Zelda’s lips curled into a sinister smile as she beckoned him forward with a flick of her toes. “Come closer,” she commanded, her voice smooth but dripping with fake friendliness. “Let’s see if you’re worthy of my feet.”
The man hesitated, his body frozen in place. He had seen the others fall—some fleeing in terror, others dragged away to the dungeons, broken by the overwhelming power of Zelda’s feet. He knew what awaited him, and it terrified him.
“Now!” Zelda snapped, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. The man jumped at her command and staggered forward, his knees buckling as he knelt before her.
Zelda uncrossed her legs, planting both feet in his lap, the slick, dirty soles staring him in the face. “Smell them,” she ordered, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “You’ll love it. You will love it.”
The man’s hands trembled as he lifted her foot, bringing it toward his face. The moment his nose made contact with her sole, the smell hit him like a punch to the gut. The week-old stench of sweat, dirt, and grime was overwhelming. His stomach churned violently, his eyes watering as the odour filled his lungs, suffocating him.
“Breathe deep,” Zelda whispered, pressing her toes against his nose, forcing him to take in the full force of the rancid smell. He gagged, his body convulsing as he fought to keep from gagging or worse, but Zelda didn’t relent. She pressed harder, her toes curling against his face.
“You’re weak,” she sneered. “I can see it in your eyes. You won’t last.”
The man’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he struggled to keep himself together. He wanted to run, to flee from the unbearable humiliation, but he knew that would only lead him to a far worse fate in Zelda’s dungeon.
“Lick,” Zelda commanded, her voice icy and impatient. “Now.”
His entire body shaking, the man extended his tongue, dragging it across the dirt-caked sole of her foot. The taste was even worse than the smell—bitter, salty, a disgusting mix of filth that had been trapped in her boots for days. He gagged again, but he kept going, his tongue sliding between her toes, tasting the accumulated sweat and grime that had settled there.
Zelda’s smile widened as she watched him. “You’re pathetic,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. “I’ve had peasants who’ve done better.”
The man’s hands gripped her ankle tightly, his body convulsing as he tried to endure the humiliation. Zelda sighed lazily, leaning back in her throne, her toes flexing as he continued to lick her foot, his movements slow and shaky.
“I should throw you in the dungeon with the others,” she mused, her voice soft and dangerous. “You’d learn to appreciate my feet there. Everyone does, eventually.”
The man’s eyes widened with terror, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving frantically over her foot, desperate to please her, to avoid the dungeon at any cost.
Zelda watched him for a few more moments, her expression indifferent, before she finally lifted her foot away, leaving the man gasping for air, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
“Enough,” she said, her voice cold and final. “You’re not worthy.”
The man collapsed in relief, his body trembling as the weight of the ordeal washed over him. Zelda waved dismissively toward the guards. “Take him away,” she ordered. “He’s failed.”
The guards moved swiftly, dragging the broken man away as he sobbed in humiliation, his cries echoing down the corridors as he was led out of the throne room.
Zelda turned her attention back to Link, her eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “You’ve done well, Link,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “You’ve proven your strength. Your loyalty. And now… your devotion.”
Link remained silent, standing tall, though the weight of what he had endured was still heavy on his shoulders. He had passed the test—barely—but he knew this wasn’t the end. Zelda’s gaze lingered on him, her smile widening as she crossed her legs once more, resting one foot lazily on her knee.
“I’ll expect you at my feet again soon,” she purred, her tone filled with promise. “You belong there, after all.”
With that, Zelda reclined in her throne, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction, as the stench of her feet still hung thick in the air. The test was over, for now. But there would always be more. Always another challenge, another humiliation. And Zelda would relish every moment of it.
Link knew this. He had survived. But the cost of his survival was yet to be fully paid.
And deep down, he knew that he was bound to Zelda—her feet, her dominance—forever.
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