#yes I know “regalia” typically refers to the crowns and scepters and capes and not just royal court clothes shhhhhh

[peaches2217]

🍽

🍽️ - Dinner date

I am so sorry this took so long, but I hope it's worth the wait!!

Regalia

~~~

Mario was in full regalia.

Further: Mario was in full regalia, casually, by his own choice.

The whole getup was so very un-Mario — the deep navy tunic, the gold buttons and tasseled shoulder pads, the white trousers and tall black boots. He looked more suited for engaging in political discourse than plumbing or carpentry or any of the other hundreds of things he enjoyed far more. Yet not a single thread felt out of place. It was him, somehow, and it suited him perfectly.

Peach felt suddenly woozy. “Devastatingly attractive” didn’t even begin to describe how she perceived him in that moment. 

When she took too long with her ogling, he grinned a knowing little grin and stepped forward. She couldn’t help but blush as he took her hand. Or maybe she had already been blushing, and now she was just blushing even harder. Oh, stars.

“Your Majesty.” He dropped to one knee with a smoothness that suggested practice (but the way he wobbled briefly when he landed suggested he still needed more), kissing her knuckles. His crown sat in place of his usual cap, a smaller replica of Peach’s; the garnets and pastel sapphires set into its band caught the light of the setting sun just so, sparkling in a way that seemed almost ethereal.

Are you trying to kill me? she wanted to ask. Glancing up, she saw Toad in the gazebo a few steps away, his own attire traded for a black vest and bowtie. He offered her an eager thumbs-up.

“Look at you,” she said instead. She meant to follow up with “You look handsome,” but Mario’s eyes met hers, shining with satisfaction and reverence, and her voice stuck in her throat.

He could fill in the blanks. He knew exactly what this was doing to her.

Pushing back up to his feet, Mario led her forward, her hand still in his grasp. “I don’t know about you,” he said, a joyful lilt in his tone, “but I’m starving! Shall we?”

She only nodded, because she couldn’t trust herself with an honest response.

Thankfully, Mario was merciful enough to carry their conversation in full until she overcame her stupefaction. He wasn’t trying for full formality. In spite of his attire, the mood was relaxed, and it loosened further when Toad produced a bottle of Yoshi Berry wine from the kitchens inside. In short order they laughed and joked together as they always did, and for that Peach was grateful.

Toad stationed himself in one corner of the gazebo and filled the air with the warm tones of a viola (she hadn’t even known he could play the viola, an instrument almost as large as he was, but that was beside the point). In the lulls between topics, Mario would swirl the liquid in his glass and smile at her, the sort of smile one might expect to find on the face of a lovesick schoolboy. The sapphires in his crown couldn’t compare to the deep, denim blue of his eyes.

None of this felt real. Peach was certain she was dreaming, or that perhaps she was living in a children’s picture book, the obligatory kindly queen and her beloved, benevolent king.

But this was in fact reality, and as the haze of romanticism ran its course, she could see the signs more and more clearly.

Mario shifted frequently, tugged at the high collar of his tunic, fiddled with the buttons. Reached up to make sure his crown wasn’t sliding off, reached down to ensure his pant legs were still securely tucked into his boots. As they chatted and nursed their wine, he absently flicked at the tassels on his shoulders; he’d catch himself doing it, stop, and then start back up again as soon as he wasn’t thinking about it.

When their food finally arrived, he dug right in with something that sounded like a sigh of relief. It wasn’t just hunger, Peach recognized. He was grateful for another distraction.

He was uncomfortable. The clothes that made him look so regal in turn made him feel horribly out of place. The realization didn’t really surprise her; she had come to his first fitting for moral support, and while he had done his best not to complain as the seamstress made her measurements, his face betrayed his agony. More than once, his eyes met hers, and he mouthed an over-the-top “Help me.”

“I didn’t think becoming a royal consort meant I’d actually have to dress like one,” he had joked that night, pulling on the softest and most worn, ragged night clothes he owned. Peach had just giggled.

Guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She had reacted so strongly to this new addition to his wardrobe, and judging from the look in his eyes, he had known she would. The regalia he would have to wear at least once a week as part of his new duties, maybe more, and there was no helping that. But tonight, he was putting himself through needless misery just for her sake.

She tried not to think too hard about it as she ate. Leaving her food untouched would be terribly rude.

At the completion of their meal, Peach rose from her seat and stretched her back, and Mario came around the table to offer his arm to her. “Walk with me?” he asked. She could hear no hint of an ulterior motive in his offer, nothing but a sincere wish to extend their evening. He would happily endure his discomfort just to spend more time with her. The thought brought her as much joy as it did sadness.

She took his hand instead, eyeing his gloves. She hadn’t noticed they were different. Instead of leather, dented and scuffed from constant use, these were silk.

“Wouldn’t you rather get out of that stuffy outfit?” she offered in return. She could see him in his regalia every single day and never find it any less attractive, and even now she fought the urge to accept his offer and enjoy the sight that much longer. But she couldn’t bear to indulge her own desires at the expense of his comfort.

Mario’s face twisted with surprise at her words. She didn’t even hear Toad as he left them to talk, his voice straining with suppressed laughter — “C’mon, at least let a Toad get outta earshot first!”

“You don’t like it?” Mario asked. His eyes flicked down and over himself, as though inspecting for some sort of flaw in the fabric, a missing button, a stain, but Peach put her free hand to his cheek, commanding his attention once more.

“I think it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” she confessed. “But you looked like you were seconds from tearing it off and clawing into your skin all night.”

“Oh.” Mario’s cheek warmed beneath her palm, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Well… you know. Not exactly the kind of outfit I’d wear lounging around, yeah? But!” He plucked her hand from his face and brought it to join her opposite hand, cradling them both in his own much larger grasp. “I’ve gotta get used to it anyway, right? The sooner I start, the better!”

“You don’t have to torture yourself for my sake, darling.”

“Torture? No no no, tesoro mio, you misunderstand,” he said, and that smile became all at once confident and tender. “Seeing your face light up like a big Fire Flower? The way you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me? I’m a little selfish, you know. Learning to put up with this dumb thing is a lot easier when you’re making me feel like a hunk.”

Peach laughed at that, overcome with relief and affection all at once. “You are a hunk,” she said, bending to press a kiss to his cheek. He tilted his face to return the favor, and she giggled again at the way his mustache tickled her skin.

“And you’re the most beautiful princess in the whole world,” he murmured against her. “Sorry— queen.”

“Your queen.”

“My queen,” he agreed. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips before pulling back, and Peach followed suit. She noted with another gentle wave of relief that he didn’t look nearly so uncomfortable right now.

“In that case,” she said, “why don’t we take that walk?” Mario squeezed her hands one final time before dropping them to offer his arm once more. If this was his preferred method of breaking in a necessary evil, she would gladly assist.

“For what it’s worth,” she continued as he led her out of the gazebo, “I think you’re a hunk no matter what you wear.”

“So if this one sits in the closet for our next date?” 

“Actually, I was thinking we could have pizza and ice cream in our pajamas instead.”

“Oh, yes, please. Same time next week?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Mamma mia,” Mario laughed as they walked into the calm night, “and I keep thinking I can’t fall for you any harder!”