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“Here, change into this,” Sharpe said, throwing a pile of clothes on her lap.
Great. This had been a day full of indignities.
Princess Zari Tarazi of Khandaq had been having what could adequately been called, a piece of shit day. Her visit to America - where she wouldn’t have ever wanted to go - had went from boring to chaotic in a matter of hours.
At an event with the President, some asshole had tried to kill her. After that, she’d been thrown into a car by - “Secret Service Agent Sharpe, here to protect the royal family of Khandaq” - and stashed in a shitty motel room.
Now, Zari was being told to wear commoner clothes.
Sharpe had already changed out of her tailored suit into a grey turtleneck and plaid pants. It wasn’t a bad look - it really should have been, but it wasn’t.
“Go,” she told her. “We have to get a move on.”
With a grimace, Zari picked up the first item of clothing - a red and black checkered shirt. “You really like patterns, don’t you?”
“It’s all we had on hand, Princess,” Sharpe replied, contempt leaking into her last word. “Just make my job a little easier.”
Zari groaned, getting up. “Fine. But I won’t have you watching me change.”
Sharpe crossed her arms. “Fine.”
As the door closed behind her, Zari took another look at the clothes she’d been given. Worst of all, she was stuck with the irritatingly hot Agent Sharpe.
She changed into the clothes she’d been given as fast as she could, trying to get this torture over with. The shirt was pretty comfortable, she had to admit, but the jeans were way too tight. Seriously, people wore these for fun?
There was a knock at the door. “Hurry up, Tarazi.”
Zari opened the door, still barefoot. “It’s Your Highness to you, Agent Sharpe.”
“Put your shoes on. Our ride’s waiting out front.”
After she’d laced up her shoes, Sharpe had dragged her into some crappy minivan. It was a repulsive green color on the outside and as stuffy as a shoebox on the inside.
Or, Zari thought, as a certain agent.
“You know, Princess,” Sharpe said as they climbed into the van. “You’re really making my job difficult.”
“Well, Agent,” Zari said, putting on her seatbelt. “I’m not exactly happy to be here either.”
Sharpe turned on the car, squeezing the steering wheel like she was trying to strangle it. “This is going to be hell if you don’t try to play nice.”
“How about you play nice first?” Zari asked. “Ms. Sharpe.”
“It’s Ava,” Sharpe said. She took a deep breath, before saying in a softer tone, “You could call me Ava.”
Zari looked over at her. While she’d been changing, the agent had let her hair down from its bun, blonde waves falling around her face. “Ava. What a pretty name.”
Ava chuckled, the first thing that hadn’t been pure contempt from her. “Thanks. Picked it myself,” she joked. Who knew the agent had a heart?
“I suppose… you could call me Z.” She turned back to the window. “Since calling me Your Highness is a little suspcious.”
“Well, Z,” Ava said. “You pick the music.”
Suddenly, this situation didn’t seem as shitty as it could have been.