Steve examined his brushes, mentally checking off his supplies. Paint, check. Water, check. Canvas, check. Lighting, check. All he needed was the princess.

He hadn't expected his business to become the 'thing'. Tired of being catfished by royalty? Hire me for an honest opinion and depiction of your betrothed! Pay up front, no take backs.

Steve suspected half the reason it did so well was because no one knew royalty could be named 'Steve'. Royalty hate the thought of a single kingdom holding everyone's secrets.

Honest Portraits, born from a disastrous courtship between Buck and a buck toothed kleptomaniac. Buck reasoned if he'd gotten an accurate portrait and description the mix up might not have happened.

Since then, Steve had painted thousands of Princesses. Listened to their stories, drawn their souls out of the stereotypes their mothers desperately hoped they could fill. He'd met a few crazies, some dreamers. Steve could recognize a princess from anywhere.

Today's sitter was different. Her father, King Fury of Shield, wanted a portrait to determine which suitor would fit his princess best. A curious request. Most of his customers were anxious Princes or concerned fathers who did not believe the family of the betrothed was honest about their daughters.

Shield was known for being unusual. It contained the best Secret Service a country could ask for and held thousands of convert bases in every Kingdom. Steve figured there were at least 6 agents watching this encounter now. Shield's own heirs weren't even related to the King. Adopted into the crown at birth, King Fury raised his Prince and Princess as if they were his own. Steve knew a little about the Prince. Rumors of a expert marksman and a quiver of arrows. But nothing else. The Princess was even more elusive.

He straightened a stack of papers on the table next to his easel. When he'd asked the King to send him every rumor/story/description about his daughter, Steve hadn't expected it to be this thick.

Light footsteps from behind. Steve picked up his handkerchief. "Blindfold please." A rustle of cloth, then soft fabric tightened around his eyes. "Do you understand how this works?"

Silence. The smell of soap hit his nostrils. Strange. Princesses smell of flowers and cream. Not of soap and rust.

"On the table should be your description. Please read it aloud." He rolled his pencil between his fingers.

"Natasha Romanoff," Her voice was lower than he was expectating. Slightly husky as if she was getting over an cold. He sketched out a rough outline of a female figure. "Princess of Shield, Heir, monster."

Steve hesitated. She didn't. She went on steadily.

"Regal, slob, delicate, deadly...aren't these all opposites?" She demanded.

Steve turned towards her voice. "I'm trying to get a grasp of who you are. It… helps."

"It helps to draw blindfold."

He shifted in his seat. "Yes, it does sound stupid aloud."

"Then why do it? You already know all the stories," The paper dropped and he heard her step towards him. "Forget the blindfold and look at me." Her cold fingers gripped the cloth around his eyes. He caught her hands, resisting her motion.

"I didn't read any of them. I don't know anything about you except…"

The blindfold fell and he came face to face with a pair of green eyes. Steve swallowed.

She stepped back. Long white curls dangled down her face. A loud red gown pooled around her feet and buttoned up her front. Shields princess looked like a princess. And yet, he couldn't get past her eyes. Her red lipped smile didn't crinkle them. She carried her shoulders like a warrior and her eyes bored through him.

"It's a breach of contract to lie to me." Steve said.

The Princess clicked her tongue. "Right, the wig."

"What-"

"A little game that I like to play," She tugged it from her head and shook her hair free. Dark red, shoulder length. It clashed with her dress, an another mistake a princess would never make. Steve refocused on her eyes. This wasn't an invitation.

"What else?" He asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

Steve nodded to her outfit. "You've got something underneath that too. What, a bomb?"

She laughed and reached for it's buttons. "You're different from the other suitors." Steve could hear her voice get sweeter.

"I'm not a suitor."

Steve watched her hand slide casually to her thigh and tighten. "You aren't."

"Your father wanted me to paint an honest portrait of you." Steve nodded to the easel. "I don't know what you were expecting, but I'm not going to harm you."

The hand returned to the buttons. She shrugged it off to reveal a catsuit. Navy blue and black boots. This was the costume of an agent, not a Princess. Steve noted the gun holster at her thigh. "You're Steve Rogers, from Honest Portraits."

He nodded.

She approached him slowly. "Prove it."

"Your father stamped me himself before I entered the garden." He extended his fists for her to see. She scanned it. "So he was serious," She extended a hand. "Call me Natasha."

He shook it. Calloused and scarred. "Not Princess?"

"I don't need to state my title to have value." Natasha released his hand and looked around.

"How do you want me to stand?"

"How do you want me to paint you?" He fired back.

Nat eyed his brushes. "My father wants me to look marriageable. Paint me like that." She seated herself in the bushes and stared at him.

Steve looked down at the rough sketch. She seemed unearthly. The only thing he got right in it was the undertone of violence in her eyes. She'd said, 'So, he was serious.' He could imagine the scene. A father, anxious for his daughters security. The princess, with only ideas for her country's security.

Natasha's eyes were still on him. He could see the list now. Various princes from each country. Each being named off in order of importance and wealth. He could hear her silence getting louder, her father's plans squishing her voice somewhere deep inside of her. Natasha had known he would be here, this was her rebellion. A get up in the face of a painter, brother of a Prince on her list. He'd have to tell everyone how she lied to him, how this wasn't a Princess you'd want to make your queen.

Steve knew how to paint her now.

It took a few hours until he could get it right. The paint was still drying and the moon was peeking over the corner of the bushes. "It's finished." He wiped his hands on a cloth, wet his brushes.

She came over and looked at it. A girl with eyes of steel. Flaming red hair curled under her jaw and on top rested a crown of lilies. A smirk tugged her lips, accompanied by a gun resting in the lap of her white dress. She looked wild. Like nothing could hold her.

Natasha nodded. He could sense her relief. This was not a trophy on his canvas, but a warrior princess. "Good. Let them see me like that."

She left the wig and gown behind her, a strand of lilies looped around her neck and his heart in hand.

Saw this prompt and I wanted to try it out so bad. Let me know if I should write a the part after Steve paints Natasha where Fury sees it.

Have a lovely day! :)