"I despise you."

"And yet here we are, princess."

Not at all shy about my nudity in this remote part of the beach, I stare down at him with a knee on his chest—knowing he is not struggling for air. He does not breathe as we do. His skin is still moist from the waters he emerged from, still absorbing that much needed oxygen from its compound.

I drop more of my weight to his chest. He may not suffocate, but surely he feels pain as we do. His barely concealed grimace as confirmation is almost a reward.

Some god.

No…I'd met a god. Thor was a god. This was a man with exceptionally altered genetics, but a man nonetheless.

"I am no longer a princess. You made sure of that, remember?"

I get off him and return to the warmth of the dying fire, sitting with legs crossed on the blanket. I do not need to know the look on his face. It is never one of guilt. He is not sorry for murdering my mother. He feels it is a debt paid for the one accrued during my brief stay in Talokan. A life, for life.

I should have killed him.

I probably still should. Sometimes I wish I had, back then.

But I know that I won't. Can't. Not anymore. This damned green ring of vibranium jade I now wear on my finger is proof of that. Identical, if not smaller than the one he bears on his left hand. The only way I could think of to assure the protection of his underwater paradise and my people on the surface. I'd wanted to run off, shed the responsibility of queenship once and for all.

But no. I have to keep the seat of the throne warm for my nephew; for when he comes of age.

A head of black curls blocks my view of the embers disturbs my thoughts, and I'm just about ready to tell him off when he raises a hand to stall my words.

"Let us not fight on this tonight, in reina," he says. Well, at least he is calling me queen again. His queen, specifically. "You did not use the shell to berate me your mother's death in person. You never call on me for that."

He is not wrong. I called him because I was stressed; and being entangled with another human for stress relief was far more enjoyable to chasing an orgasm solo. And we were married now. It was my right as much as his to have carnal enjoyment.

"You are right. I called you here for pleasure," I sigh out, pinching the bridge of my nose. Not apologetic in the slightest. Just a statement of fact. "It seems pleasure escapes me tonight, however. My mind will not turn off. The thoughts run rampant."

Namor shifts to turn around and poke about the embers, and I take the time to gaze at his impeccable body. He wasn't much taller than I, but he was broad. Firm. It bothered me how I could be so sexually attracted to a man who murdered my own mother. Drowned so many of my city—

"Shuri. What is it that troubles you?" Namor at some point had taken seat beside me.

I lift one shoulder in shrug. "Everything. Nothing."

"Hm. Your people. Your mother. Your nephew. Me. Us. This."

I hate that he knows this. I don't confirm or deny his assumptions. He does not need me to. He knows he is right. Smug bastard.

Clearing his throat, he says, "Well…we cannot bring back your mother, so for that, only time will soothe the scars. They will never fade, Shuri. Only become less jagged. Less raw."

Logically, I know this. Emotions do not follow the rules of logic. So I simply nod. "You skipped over the 'people' part," I say with a frown.

Namor laughs. It is a warm, low tone. I don't get to hear it often. "That will never change, I am afraid. After five centuries, even I still go to bed with troubles in my thoughts. You are a ruler now, Shuri. You will never cease to worry for your people. That is your job. To worry, and to find solutions to those worries."

I decide I do not like this answer. "Bast, this stress will give me too many gray hairs before T'Challa is old enough to take over," I grumble. By now I'd shifted to bring my knees to my chin.

Another laugh. "Your mother was white haired with time. I am sure you will be beautiful still."

"Beautiful my ass," I scoff.

"One day you will believe it for yourself."

This is not the first time he's commented on my looks. I do not like to acknowledge the warmth I get from the compliment. "You don't mean that."

"You would know if I found you unappealing," he chuckles. I wonder what he means by that. "Now let's see, where was I…ah, yes. Your nephew."

"Mhm."

His head tilts in thought. "To be honest, I am unsure of why you are concerned for him. As promised, my people watch the shores of Haiti to assure his maritime safety. And from what you have told me, he was prepared for this role since the day he was born. Molded for it. Long before your brother passed away. Why do you worry?"

I chew on my lip in thought as I organize my feelings into words that will make sense, and then speak them. "The weight of this crown is heavy," I confess. "I don't want to pass this burden onto him. I know I will have to, it is his birthright. I will be glad to be rid of it. But I feel sorry for what he will have to shoulder. And so young…"

"He will manage." Namor waves it off confidently. "His mother will help him. As your mother helped your brother. As my mother helped me."

His mother. We never speak of her. Not since he gave me her bracelet, which I destroyed to synthesize more heart-shaped herbs. He never mentioned her, and I never asked. "How old were you when she died?"

When my question is met with silence, I turn to look at him. The mirth is gone from his face, replaced by a look as unreadable stone. "That is a very personal question, Shuri."

"We have sex fairly frequently, Namor, we are beyond personal questions."

His eyes close. "I wish you would stop calling me that."

My brows rise. "You are the one who introduced yourself to us as such," I say.

Namor shakes his head. "No, no. That day when I appeared to you and the late queen, I said, 'My people call me K'uk'ulkan. But my enemies call me Namor.' Your memory is shallow, pri— my queen. I wish you to stop calling me Namor."

And I wish you would stop calling me princess. I don't say the irony aloud. He did self-correct, and I will respect the effort by not mentioning it just now. "Why?"

"I have felt the depths of your walls, Shuri, I would hope to think you do not still consider me an enemy."

The crassness of his words cause me to look away again. "So…you. Us. This."

"Hn. Me. Us. This," he echoes. "Am I still your enemy, or have I gravely miscalculated this marriage alliance and endangered my people?"

My eyes fly open. "I would never do that to your people. I told you that, and I meant it then. I still mean it now. Don't insult me."

"Then, am I still your enemy?"

I shake my head.

"Then call me as my people do. Please. I wish to hear you say it."

Maybe it's the way the words come out, but he sounds almost sad. I glance at him from my peripheral, and can tell he is looking at me intently, longingly. How long has he been wanting to ask this of me?

"K'uk'ulkan," I whisper, and a rare smile of sincerity breaks over his face. It makes him look younger. Boyish.

"Thank you. Now, lay back," he commands, already shifting onto his knees toward me.

I scowl. I had long given up on the idea of sex for the remainder of the night. "What? No, it is late and we both must return to—"

"Shuri. Turn your thoughts off. And just. Lay. Back."

Begrudgingly I do so, and I hear him mutter something about my being as stubborn as a bull. I feel the scruff of his beard against my left ankle, followed the warmth of his lips against the skin there. I want to comment that it tickles, that he is due for a trim.

"Thoughts off, Shuri," he whispers against my thigh this time.

Right. A trail of kisses from outer thigh to inner thigh, the kisses becoming open mouthed and languid as he lips moved further toward what is now likely a fairly moist area between us.

Frustratingly, teasingly, he skips that part to place wet kisses along my stomach, along my breasts. They are small, and I know this. Perhaps my one insecurity. In spite of their size, Namor does not neglect them. A nipple disappears between teeth, between lips, and I shiver at the heat of it.

I lift my hips up to have some sort of friction but he merely chuckles and releases my nipple with a pop. "Always so impatient! Relax, and let me do what I am doing. No thoughts."

Bast curse him. I let him continue his torment, lips now at my neck. It is both ticklish and pleasing, I cannot help that I squirm at the tongue that moves at such a sensitive spot.

And then I see his face directly above mine. My eyes rove over his features. The dark hair, perpetually shiny. I wonder how the seawater does not dry it out. His dark eyes, unreadable unless he wants you to know his thoughts. The jade adornments of his pointed ears—ears I knew were sensitive when he allowed me to touch them. The piercing of his nose.

I did not love him. I still held too much anger toward him. I needed to heal first. Maybe I never would. But I did like him. I did feel something there, that much I could not deny.

"We have never kissed before," I mumble out loud. I didn't mean to, and so I laugh. "Sorry, no thoughts…but…"

Sex was one thing. Whenever I summoned him or he summoned me, it was either political matters or sex that had no…warmth. It was carnal, basal. A human function. Biology. But kissing just felt too…intimate. Romantic. Emotional.

"You can kiss me, if you'd like," he says. An invite. He is looking at my lips, I notice. How long has he wanted to do that? To ask it of me?

So I do. My hands reach up to cup his face, then slide back to bury my fingers in his hair and pull him downward. And at first the kiss is soft, respectful. Almost formal. But I lower one hand to graze the tip of ear, and he gasps against my lips.

"Sensitive," he reminds me.

"I know," I remind him, doing it again.

He groans and grinds his hips against mine, though I have yet to release either ear. Our kiss turns hungry, messy. A battle of tongues almost, but eventually he grips my arms to still me, his head in the crook of my neck. Panting, I hadn't realized I was starving for air.

Namor laughs and places a kiss there. "You have no idea how badly I want to be inside you right now."

I grin. "So do it, K'uk'ulkan," I whisper. "I will not stop you."

He groans again. "That is not fair."

But he does not continue to kiss me, nor does he penetrate me like I expect. He slides back down to nestle between my legs, sliding my knees quite far apart. A few more kisses pepper the area I know is very nearly bare aside from a singular strip. And though I know it was coming, I still flinch and arch slightly from the flat of his tongue finally meeting my center.

My breath hitches as he anchors me in place, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan of pleasure. I do not know what magic he is doing down there, it is different from the other times we've done

"I want to hear you, in reina," he purrs before diving into me once more. The negative pressure of his sucking on the most sensitive part of me, coupled with his tongue flicking a steady back-and-forth is divine.

My mouth opens and the sounds tumble out of me on their own. I cannot help it. My hands find themselves in his hair for leverage, and when I tug, a most dark moan comes from him.

"Close…"

"Mhmmmm…"

He doesn't complain about the vice grip of my thighs around his head, his earrings all but digging into my flesh. I almost want to flip him over so I could just SIT and ride him to completion.

I don't do it. I let him have the control for once so I can lose mine. And I lose all of it when I climax, so surprised by the force of it that no sound comes out.

Namor does one slow, languid lap with his tongue before he comes back up to kiss me. Softer this time. Enough that I can taste myself there. Sweet. Musky.

A soft kiss to the forehead and Namor readies to stand. Perhaps to redress and return to the waters. My eyes open and I reach out to grasp his wrist to stop him. "Where are you going?"

He raises a brow. "I have relieved your stress, have I not?"

"Is there so much blood rushing south that there is not enough left for your brain? Come here, man. We're not done yet. I want more."

Of course he doesn't refuse me. This time he penetrates as always. But it is not hard and fast as before. Hard yes—in more ways than one—but slower. More, somehow. And though I don't climax the second time, I find I didn't need to. It was enough to watch his face and to hear his strained panting as he neared the cliff of pleasure and fell over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was very late by the time we dressed again, (thanks be to Bast—the night chill was becoming unpleasant).

"You could stay," I offer. Brows would raise if he was seen in the halls but no one would question his right to be there.

"And you could come with me," he counters. He pauses his adjustment of the heavy collar around his neck to regard me.

Hm. Touché. He would never feel at ease leaving his people for too long. And he would never feel entirely comfortable overstaying his welcome amongst a people who still had reservations about him.

Just as I would not feel comfortable under the gaze of Namora, who still cursed me for the death of the handmaiden. And with no one else to protect Wakanda, I couldn't risk being away for more than was necessary.

An impasse.

I shake my head. "I despise you." Less anger in my tone this time.

Namor merely begins walking backward toward the water's edge. "And yet here we are, in reina," he repeats.

Not princess anymore. Not just any queen.

His queen.