Five
As Natasha stepped from the Coach, a shard of power stabbed into her heel and travelled up her leg, expanding in warm concentric circles.
The land here was more alive than any she had felt before. It was warm, vibrant, pulsing. It called to her, soothed her, seduced her.
The red web hummed Homehomehome, and she stumbled as the meaning sunk into her marrow.
Clint caught her arm to steady her, and she did not snarl. She let his male strength centre her, ground her again, all the while feeling the pulse of the land drumming against her barriers.
“Natasha?” Clint asked warily.
“The land wants me,” she said, half dazed. “It's calling.”
An eyebrow raised in curiosity, but Clint did not say anything. What could a male say to a Queen?
There was a pressure to accept the land, but Natasha hesitated. She could fell the feminine power already within the land, warm and strong.
Opal noticed her, recognised her, and welcomed her.
Coming back to herself again, Natasha found that Clint had escorted/guided her down the side street and to the outside of a small house with a slate roof. Window boxes on the sills were a riot of colourful flowers, spilling over and down to the ground. Outside the door leaned a man who's psychic scent was that of a prince, his vivid blue eyes half closed in the warmth of the sun. A Sapphire shield sparkled fitfully in front of the door.
Their footsteps on the cobblestones alerted him to their presence, and he opened his eyes. His grin when he saw Clint was broad and innocent. It sharpened when he saw Natasha, and he offered a formal salute.
“Lord Steve,” Clint greeted warmly.
“Prince Clint, Lady,” Steve returned.
“The Master of the Guard requires my presence,” Clint said dryly.
Steve winced. “Again?” he asked.
“For an explanation of Lady Natasha's presence,” Clint added.
“He had promised me he will be on his best behaviour,” Natasha added.
There was something about Steve that set butterflies to tumbling in her stomach, with his eyes as blue as his jewels. Here, within a short space of time was another powerful male who was not a threat to her. She actually thought she might like him.
“By your leave, my lady, I will asked Steve to escort you in to see Queen Maria.”
Natasha nodded her acceptance. “Return when you can, my prince,” she said.
She couldn't help but love the look of pride that flashed through Clint's eyes for a moment before he turned and retraced his footsteps.
Steve bowed to her again, lower caste Prince to higher caste Queen. It was protocol perfect. He then offered his arm as the shield dissolved, and the door opened.
The walls of the cottage were washed with the strong feminine psychic scent, homely and welcoming. With her hand resting lightly on Steve's arm, Natasha stepped in over the threshold.
She felt the last remains of her tangled web twist and release her, shredding into nothingness. No illusions, no lies, she stood barefaced to the world now. It was a little overwhelming.
The door opened into a cheerful yellow kitchen with a sturdy white painted table in the centre.
Surrounded by all the usual kitchen paraphernalia a woman sat at the table. She wore a russet shirt and black trousers, and cradled a mug in her hands.
She looked up at them.
*Well met, sister,* she spoke directly to Natasha.
Natasha was a red-jeweled Queen and Black Widow, and was as proud of herself as any Blood female. But Maria was a ruling queen and had experience on her side. Under that gaze, Natasha felt as gauche and as insecure as a child. The ingrained habits tried to slink back.
Maria smiled as if she could hear Natasha's thoughts and rose, offering her hand palm up in the formal greeting.
“Steve, please go and find Coulson and ask him to attend me,” Maria spoke, as Natasha reached out her own hands. Palm met palm and opal met red.
*There is no need to be worried* Maria spoke as Steve left. *We will make everything work*
Natasha believed her.