♡ ▐▒ ━━━ He hadn’t wanted to do this.
He still didn’t want to do this.
However, maids twittered about Zidane fervently. They fussed with his blonde locks that were shiny and oddly glossy, each strand combed into submission, with a ponytail knotted about with a delicate purple ribbon at the nape of his neck. They polished his black, shiny shoes and they rearranged his cuffs until they were pressed and adjusted just so. Zidane had been pampered for the last two hours--scrubbed in a bubbly concoction until his skin was red, stuffed into a suit that looked absolutely ridiculous, and last crammed into these too-tiny shoes.
Finally, the three maids escorted him out the door and down another nameless, gleaming hallway, until he spotted Garnet just ahead.
Of course, she also looked stunning, manicured in a similar fashion as Zidane.
Today was his first official “meet and greet” with the nobles of Alexandria since returning from the Iifa Tree. Outside the doors posed before them, they would be greeted with the beaming sunshine of an afternoon just beginning. Out there a hundred people he didn’t know would be milling around, just waiting for the opportunity to judge him--Zidane didn’t care so much what strangers thought of him and he knew that was precisely the problem.
Garnet’s whole hierarchy depended on what people thought of her. Being a Queen meant she had to be beloved by her people--she had to totter about in silken gowns and twinkle a giggle at the perfect moment. If she didn’t, the people would overthrow her... or worse.
For her sake, he had to care.
Why was this the hardest thing he’d ever had to do? Oh no, kidnapping the princess was much easier than this. Felling a thousand fiends had been a simple, necessary chore. Defeating Necron--the very embodiment of death--had been laughable.
But strutting around in a pristine garden with bubbly champagne, playing nice? He wanted to cower away and run. Yet somehow his feet kept clopping down the hallway, a smile blooming on his lips as if it was the most natural thing to do.
“Ready Dagger?” Zidane asked upon closing the distance between them, offering up his arm for her to take. “I mean--Garnet,” he amended, because he was certain if he called her ‘Dagger’ out there no one would know what he meant.
It was just the start of a very long afternoon.
