Four
The further the Coach carried her from the fair, the safer Natasha started to feel. The Warlord Prince, her Warlord Prince she could say in the privacy of her mind, was half sleeping, lulled by the feel of her fingers in his hair. He didn’t seem to care about the snake tooth that hovered so near his vulnerable skin, or that fact that she could use her strength to burn his inner web and sending him screaming into the Darkness.
The Darkness help her, she didn’t feel threatened by him. Maybe this was how having a brother would have felt. He didn’t set her teeth on edge, didn’t make her skin crawl. Here was a male that she might be able to trust.
She must have dozed a little herself, comfortable in her new knowledge, because the feel of the Coach landing woke her. Mazy blue eyes looked up at her as Clint came back to the land of the conscious.
“So what happens now?” she asked softly.
“Now I explain to Queen Maria why I wish to be released from her court.”
“I have no plans for a court,” Natasha said cooly.
“Whether you do or not, you’re stuck with me,” and his cocky tone of voice was offset by the appeal in his eyes. If a Warlord Prince was told to walk away, then he would, he couldn’t do anything else. But he didn’t want to be sent away, didn’t want to lose his Queen so soon after finding her. With a small shock, Natasha realised just how much power she had.
She chose not to wield it. “Maybe you won’t be able to put up with me,” she teased lightly.
He would have responded, she could see it in the way his lips quirked, but the Coach door was flung open with a burst of Sapphire power.
A one-eyed man glared inside, and Natasha felt the air chill as Clint matched him glare for glare.
Natasha let a little of her own power snap forth, warm and biting, warning.
The man looked to her, and the force of his glare lessened slightly. Natasha felt her tangled web cling tighter to her strength. This male was a threat. This male was dangerous. A shiver of fear trailed up her spine, and she fought the ingrained urge to cower. She was a Queen. No longer did she have to hide.
Beside her, Clint was white and stiff, eyes like chips of ice.
The Sapphire Warlord Prince raised both hands, and stepped back from the Coach. Fear receeded.
“Barton, escort your lady to the Queen,” he said. “Then come to my office.”
“Fury,” and there was acquiescence in the way Clint spoke the others name. No titles either, Natasha noted.
Fury left, looking back over one shoulder as he did so. Clint growled under his breath
“Pissing contest?” Natasha asked dryly.
Clint scratched the back of his neck, and Natasha thought that he felt sheepish.
“The Master of the Guard believes that I have a problem with authority.”
“Male authority?”
“Yeah.”
Natasha smiled. *Best behaviour then, my Prince*
*As my Queen commands*
But Clint only felt pride that his Queen had acknowledged him.