Six
Fury had taken to pacing his office, but did wait till Clint closed the door before throwing up an aural shield. His one eye glared at Clint.
“Well?” he snapped out.
This was the Master of the Guard, and Clint should feel subservient, should be subservient This was one of the most important males of the court.
As he listened to the slow beat of his heart, Clint wanted to tear Fury's throat out.
Rage bubbled through him, a warm sweet darkness. Only the promise to his Queen kept him that half step away from the killing edge.
“What exactly would you like to know?” Clint couldn’t help the edge that tinged his tone.
“Well, why you don't you start at the damned beginning, and work from there?” Fury suggested, just as edgily.
Clint did, outlining the basic points of what happened, keeping his Queen's face firmly in his mind. He was honest, the Master could spot even a thought lie. He covered everything up to the point of walking past the point where Natasha waited. He hesitated.
If anyone could understand what had happened, it would be Fury. If anyone could understand the desires of an unbonded Warlord Prince, it was a bonded one. But this was Fury, bad-tempered and easily aggravated.
Natasha's reminder thrummed in his head. Be nice.
Fury leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
“At ease,” he said. “The lady will be staying. Our discussion will not change that.”
Another half step away from the killing edge.
“She seemed broken, but felt strong,” Clint began. “I couldn't leave her.”
“Moth to a flame,” Fury remarked, but his posture was easing now. Clint wasn't entirely sure what was causing this change of attitude.
“I now all the right people to bribe to take possession of a broken witch. I didn't like it, but it was the only way to make sure that she was safe.”
Fine control threatened to splinter at the reminder of what had been.
“easy, son,” and Clint started at the tone in the other mans voice. He expected scorn, disdain, but not this acceptance.
“I can't, and won't, speak for Maria, but I can feel she is pleased with the Lady. She'll be part of the Third Circle of the Court. Just remember the First Law, Clint,”
“We serve,” Clint said softly.
“Yes.”
Bad-tempered or not, Fury understood. Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, he knew. Without a word having to be spoken, Clint knew that Fury had felt the same pull, the same hunger.
And for the first time in his service, Clint understood, and liked, Fury.
“Get back to your Lady,” Fury said. Clint did not need to be told a second time.
------------------
The feminine giggles coming from the cottage were enough to disturb any male. Clint found Steve back on guard outside the cottage, looking straight ahead.
“Still in there?” Clint asked. Steve nodded.
“Do we want to know what they're talking about?”
A hint of a smile touched Steve's stoic features as he shook his head.
But Steve would have said something if the meeting had gone wrong, and there was no witchstorm or feel of a witch acting the bitch.
So Clint took up a position against the frame, the other side to Steve, and slouched.
Natasha was near, and her scent soothed him. She was calm, far less wary, and he was pleased. If anything made that fear spike again, he would be inside in a heartbeat.
A comfortable silence fell between the two males as they stood, trying not to listen to the female chatter.
Slowly though, Clint realised that he was not the only one listening to the sound of Natasha's voice. With every rise and fall, Steve's mouth twitched.
Court Brothers, whispered part of him. Someone else to cherish, love and protect their Queen. The Warlord Prince part of his nature was soothed. Steve was a friend, not an enemy. Steve would give his life for their Queen.
Perhaps Steve didn't even recognise the pull. Maybe it was something that Princes' didn't feel as strongly.
Further up the street, another door opened. Two men stepped out, both hidden behind papers. Their psychic scents were unmistakable though, and Clint let the warm rage manifest again, and seethe through him. These were Warlord Princes, these were a threat, and he would defend his Queen.
Inside the sound of voices stopped, as Clint stepped in front of the door. , pulling his lips back in a snarl.
One of those approaching stopped in his tracks. The other shrugged and kept moving.
“Assistant Stark,” Steve warned in a low voice.
The arms full of paper lowered slightly to reveal a sardonic smirk set in a neatly trimmed beard. The look was cocky, self-assured, and Clint itched to smash it from the other man's face, to assert his dominance and to keep this man away from his Queen.
“Feeling itchy?” Stark said, mock sympathy in his tone as he addressed Clint.
“What do you want, Stark,” Clint snarled.
“The Queens wanted to see the maps of the district and villages, as well as any other services I could provide.”
Clint knew that Tony Stark was an intelligent man. He was currently learning the ins and outs of the Stewards role, before that he had been taught how to serve as a Consort. He was a jack of all trades, a master of none, and Clint really disliked the rose jewelled son of a bitch. It wasn't the insinuation that Stark was willing to warm Natasha's bed. It was a Queens right to invite whomever she chose.
Stark had no respect for Jewel rank, caste, or protocol. Clint's Queen did not need that disrespect.
Stark had upset another witch in the Court, and Clint's Queen did not need that pain.
To protect, he would not let Tony past.