"I have terms."

"A reasonable request. Continue, and help yourself to an avocado brownie. One of my many cousins invented the recipe."

Shuri's stomach growled. One of the guards had brought in a bowl of mushy but delectable looking delights. Dessert was tempting (especially before dinner, at her big age her mother and now Nakia still kept her on a disciplined diet and she couldn't bake to save her life), but she needed to secure a few things before Namor decided to tie her to a stalagmite. I'd like to see him try.

"One conversation with the Americans with no guards, nor you—" she held up a hand to what would definitely be a loud protest, "nor any Talokanil present. I need them to trust me."

"Five minutes."

She whooped internally. Success! "Twenty."

"Ten."

"Fifteen."

"Fine."

"Next, I can leave my room." Shuri was aware she was still standing in his office, but she was tired of being here when she didn't want to be. Or not being here when she did want to be.

Namor promptly pointed out that exact point the insufferable scourge. "You already do."

Pedantic didn't begin to describe him. Luckily, she'd spent enough time preparing presentations with counterpoints on top of counterpoints whenever she unveiled a new invention to the tribal elders, a skill she'd honed to near-perfection after the Jabari had been granted a seat on the council.

"Only when you summon me like a servant. I'm not sure if that's the norm here, but where I'm from you don't order even those in a lower position than you unless you are military. You ask. I can leave and enjoy the catacombs whenever I want to. You can keep your guards posted, but I want ladies I can talk to. My suit has holes and you took the oxygen tank away anyway, so I can't get far even if I tried." Not mildly tried, that was. She still had her exosuit escape plan tucked away in the corner of her mind should the need arise.

"You drive a hard bargain. You thought this through now, when moments ago you were yelling at me?" He scoffed. "Or was that a ploy, and you had hoped for a longer stay to come to fruition all this time?"

She glared. "I think fast. Keep up, please."

He was seated comfortably back in his chair, the array of weapons still laid out around him. "Tell me the rest of your terms."

"Have Juana help or sit in with some of the engineers' work."

He raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing if he thought it was strange that she was on a first name basis with some of the Talokanil. "Juana has been my guard and an excellent gatherer of information for thirteen years. This would distract her."

It wasn't an outright no, so she took at as an acceptance and continued with her last request, a very important one.

"The hammock is uncomfortable. I can't sleep well. Fen said she couldn't find more dry blankets and the ground is hard and cold, but anything soft should do." The healer explained that while Talokanil did use fabric the way humans did, underwater blankets were made to prevent absorption and on her skin they would feel brittle. Dry blankets came from Namor's personal items, as he split his time between air and sea and owned provisions for both.

That explained the scent, then.

Namor let out a long breath. Patches of brown skin on his cheeks were tinted with the barest of reds. Shuri's eyebrows flew to her hairline.

Was he blushing?

She tilted her head, wishing her arm could heal quickly so she could start crossing them at people. Namor, specifically. "Did I say something?"

"Previous humans found them acceptable." He responded in a strangled voice.

"I'm a light sleeper."

There was a small choking sound from the guard. She blended in so well with the shadows that Shuri had forgotten she was there.

Namor rapped his knuckles against his desk, eyebrows pulling together in the taut way she had begun to recognize. His right eyebrow always lifted a little higher than the left. And the little scar she'd gifted him was scabbing over nicely.

He breathed slowly, shifting on his chair. "There's an equivalent of what land dwellers call...a bed...in my chambers. You may use it."

Like a rubber band stretched too far, she snapped. She had a split second to choose between laughing and screaming. What came out instead was a strangled mix of the two.

Namor's eyebrows furrowed further, almost touching each other, as if the bastard didn't know exactly what he'd just suggested. Was he expecting her to launch into reverent praises and fall at his feet?

She almost slapped him. Almost.

"No—I—just give me something to use on the ground—"

It was his turn to be aghast. He moved up from his chair, its stone legs screeching against the floors. "That is perhaps the worst thing you've ever said and you've uttered many colorful things these days—"

Her voice spilled out of her to join his, the two talking over each other in a verbal dance.

"I like my room, I just don't like swinging while sleeping—"

"Why would a human who does not even float move so much that—"

"Why do you have a bed, don't you sleep underwater—"

Shuri stopped. She hadn't really thought about Namor, Feathered Serpent winged-God water-King, doing the trifling business of peasant affairs. She'd seen him eat once and even then she was convinced that he existed perpetually as a sculpture and didn't need food. He only ate so the food wouldn't have gone to waste. And she certainly did not think about him sleeping. A warrior, laying down in a form as mundane as sleeping, leaving himself open to attacks and unaware to threats? The image seemed laughable.

So she laughed. It was funny.

Namor glowered. "I do not understand what is humorous about this. Finish your terms quickly."

"The Princess isn't familiar with our customs, K'uk'ulkan."

They jumped apart. Shuri hadn't noticed when Namor's face had taken up the entirety of her sight, but his nose was almost touching hers. His warm breath was curling into her neck again.

The guard continued. "I will take her back to her room and call Fen."

Namor dismissed them without confirming if Shuri was done with her list of requests. She was (for now), but the abrupt ending to a meeting that had taken a completely unfathomable turn into her making this home for the time being drew her ire. She'd told him not to summon her like a servant, and now he was dismissing her like one.

She should've added that to her terms.

Nakia and Bucky had landed a couple hours past midnight. Okoye saw brief glimpses of their faces when they exited the aircraft, the Quinjet looking disturbingly damaged, but the blasted falcon-man (she'd learned his name earlier and refused to use it) intercepted her for some emergency meeting, convinced she was his ally now. Yes, they fought Thanos together, but that was true of at least a thousand others. She was the one who called the White Wolf at Ross' urging, when he'd drop the bomb on her about the impending attacks but the falcon-man was a mere distraction. Another Ross-type, intrigued by Wakanda and looking for excuses to lurk around except he offered none of the diplomatic expertise and connections Ross did, only mild attempts at humor. And Okoye did not laugh with men anymore.

He did, however, give her the full story from his end and at the mention of Shuri her heart almost stopped. They had been on a mission to help some other white man, literally white and actually a synthetic droid, and they needed her help.

Of course. Okoye burst with pride and remembered the Princess fondly. Shuri hadn't been herself for the past year and a half. The young girl who had so tenderly taken in strangers to help heal them, who'd molded technology in her hands and built their empire into what it was, was a shell of her former self.

Her father's murder broke her happiness. Her brother's passing broke her spirit. And her mother stole her heart.

She lost every member of her family so violently before reaching the cusp of adulthood. She had been Blipped, returned to fight in a war, and never once lost her way until T'Challa left her an only child, before the fishman ruined her.

Wakanda could survive the loss of a queen, but Shuri had to survive the loss of a mother alone.

And Okoye abandoned her. Queen Ramonda would've had her head for this, but she begged Bast for mercy, to keep her from hell at least until the Princess returned. To understand her intentions were sincere, and that everything she did was to make up for the sin of protecting Killmonger's throne for even a second, for taking Shuri on a mission, for leaving her.

If that beast laid a single finger on her, she would tear the ocean apart rock by rock.

She could only hope Ross was right. News of the second expedition's failure and missing divers was on the evening news. Hurried whispers and sly references to Wakanda littered the networks. One channel already outright named them the responsible party, one that selfishly hoarded resources at the cost of endangering lives. International courts were attempting to reach M'Baku. No matter that the Americans had purposefully provoked them — once was excusable, twice was idiocy.

Over a primitive iPhone, Riri swore up and down that she hadn't touched vibranium since her return. Okoye herself had ensured that all files and blueprints relating to vibranium sensors were eradicated. Her battle-hardened senses told her there were higher powers at play. Something wasn't adding up, but strategy was more Nakia's forte.

Now, there was a new problem in the form of this other flying creature whom the White Wolf suspected was in Sokovia.

After a pitifully short-lived sleep, Okoye woke to not another alarm of an impending crisis, but Nakia's soft raps at the door. The former Dora Milaje general was at the entrance of her room and enveloping the woman before Nakia let her hand fall.

There was a short boy standing next to her. His eyes were round, full of wonder and alarm at the vibranium lining the walls, the view of the glimmering city, and Okoye herself. There was something familiar about his face. He rubbed his eyes.

"Jetlag," Nakia remarked, answering a question Okoye didn't ask. Her arms were still around the woman.

Okoye couldn't move her gaze from the boy. "Nakia?"

"I'm going with the Sergeant and the falcon-man to Sokovia. The Americans won't negotiate with us unless we prove our innocence from the attacks, and Bucky believes White Vision can help. We need to get Shuri here as soon as possible." Nakia frowned. She was speaking faster now, but Okoye struggled to focus. "Unless you met with them?...Did you leave Shuri there...Okoye, are your ears deaf?"

Okoye wanted to offer Ross' company to them. She wanted to break down and explain everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, how she had abandoned Shuri in the grotto to save Wakanda. She wanted to fly back to Talokan right now and dig into the beaches with the spear of the new identity Shuri crowned her with.

"Sister," Shuri had called her, "I need you to be ready."

Okoye was ready, but not for this. She should summon the strength of the woman willing to slaughter her own husband for Wakanda.

"Okoye..." Nakia sounded pained as her hands wound around the boy.

Recognition dawned on Okoye. She had looked into those pair of eyes almost every day for over two decades. T'Challa.

Something as common as sleeping had customs — that much, Shuri knew. The Border Tribe famously had biphasic sleep cycles to account for afternoon heat that confined them to their tents for four to five hours at a time. Some cultures slept on floor-mats. Others on hammocks and definitely not on floors, apparently.

"Sleep is an intimate endeavor, and one seldom speaks of it outside the family." Fen started. She was kneading some slimy concoction into her springy curls that would supposedly help with headaches. Shuri wondered if she could ask for some way to bathe, too, but maybe that would elicit even more scandal. Talokanil didn't need to bathe; they lived in a giant bathtub. Though they could still scrub or use shower gels or something. She sighed, wishing for even the cheap moisturizers from the bazaar close to Nakia's place.

Fen lumped more goop into her curls, caressing her undercut. "It's a sign of vulnerability and trust. We take turns sleeping so no one person is left without a guardian to protect from internal and external threats."

"Internal? Like a family member?"

Fen shook her head, and with it, Shuri's head. A cramp developed in her neck. "The turbulent movement of spirits within us."

"Oh. Is that why he and the guard reacted like that?" She frowned. "You don't talk about it publicly, but the guards watch over me even when I'm asleep?"

"Out of necessity." Shuri thought she meant it was so she didn't leave in the middle of the night, but Fen's reasoning surprised her. "You don't have your family here to watch over you."

Hmm. Shuri toyed with the bracelets around her hands. The Kimoyo beads on her left and the Talokan bracelet on her right clashed when brought together but felt balanced on her wrists, equal in burden. "Why does Namor use a bed?"

Fen whimpered and paused her ministrations. Shuri whipped around, slimy gunk falling out of her hair and onto her top. She mentally added pajamas to her list of necessities, finding the idea of sleeping in her tracksuit unappealing.

Meanwhile, Fen turned purple. "I—" She wheezed, and bubbles erupted in her water-mask. Her eyes were locked at the ground, her hands still raised above Shuri's head, as if she'd just witnessed Bast herself undressing.

"Alright, don't answer that." Shuri turned back around, facing the cavernous wall in front of her.

"No...Princess, it's all right." Fen's soft voice suited her position as a healer. Her hands returned to their massage, and Shuri's eyes fluttered closed. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine herself back in the Golden City, enjoying a spa night the day before T'Challa's coronation and Okoye and Nakia weaving her hair into braids. "Talokanil don't use b-beds because we float. Our bodies move in three dimensions, if you recall. Woven...hammocks...enable us to hook our feet or hands in the gaps so we aren't privy to move with the waves."

"Namor—"

"K'uk'ulkan has his own family and home, but as I've told you before, he is half water and half air. When he needs to be here, he uses a hammock. I replaced it with a sack of kelp and synthetic fibers after one particularly bad back injury."

Oh. Shuri grimaced, wondering how long it took Fen to heal the havoc she'd unleashed on Namor's body. She could still smell the smoke and flames and the scent of burning flesh.

Fen, bless her heart, didn't say anything more on the subject.

"That doesn't explain why he's upset I'm sleeping on the floor."

"We never, um, sleep against a floor or wall. That is too vulnerable; it cuts off one dimension of movement."

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "A bed is just a raised floor, and I don't float. I won't be here long and I should be sleeping well if I'm going to be of any use to both of our people."

Fen finished her massaged and reached for the bucket of water a guard had brought her earlier. "K'uk'ulkan means well, Princess. We are all aware you are very human, but everything you have done for us may have made us think you as one of our own."

"Yeah," She mumbled, "He's still an elf-looking arrogant prick." But now that the floodgates had been opened, she pondered over Fen's words.

His family and home.

After Fen dunked her head into the bucket of water no less than seven times and a large dinner, Shuri was granted her fifteen minutes with the American divers.

The first red flag was when the guards helped her into an exosuit under Namor's watchful eye. The second one was that when one moved to pull the helmet over her head, he stopped her and joined them in the water. He towered over her, his legs moving to create the waves that kept him bobbing above at waist level. He extended an arm to cradle her face in his hands, one finger brushing over her earring. Her body was immobile in the suit. She was frozen inside anyway.

The water-king's fingers trailed down her jawline, stopping at her chin to tug it upwards. "Your fever?"

She scowled. "Gone."

"That earring is made of vibranium. Are they tracking you with it?"

Her neck was already sore from Fen's massage and the cramp increased under the strain of looking up at him at this angle. In the dim, blue-tinted glow of the cavern, the hard lines of his face looked...soft. His cool index finger curled to burrow further under her chin, but the touch was hot, too hot.

"They won't break our truce, Namor, or whatever deal they made with you. A few of us already knew your location but we wouldn't give it away to the Americans." For no reason, she added to herself.

He bared his teeth at her. He knew something she didn't, but she had to focus on her mission before wrangling more information out of him despite her twisting gut.

To her surprise, he didn't look annoyed. He definitely knows something. "Then keep it safe from damage. I can manage another Wakandan army but I would prefer to avoid more uninvited visitors that force me to leave my people alone for too long."

Lies. He was always looking for an excuse to war with them.

"No one can force you to do anything," she bit back.

"Perhaps, Princess."

When he retracted his hand and kept watch until she and a guard were submerged and on their merry way, she couldn't help but wonder if that was his way of telling her to be safe. She should be more worried about the conditions of the divers and figuring out how to work within this top-secret deal Namor made with Okoye, and she was, but it was getting harder to ignore the stirring in her stomach.

Fen finished her report without further complaints. The Princess had accepted further treatments, the scars around her ankles would be gone in a couple of days, and her arm bandages could be removed.

"As for the...bed..." Fen glanced sideways, struggling to keep a straight face, "it will be difficult to move on my own."

"I'll take care of it," Namor answered hastily, wishing to move on from the subject. The poor girl looked traumatized. "Anything else?"

Fen gulped. "She called you an 'elf' and an 'arrogant prick'."

The healer had never visited the surface-world, but Namor was a king well-studied in mythologies of many types brought by his gatherers and his own sojourns to land. Elves were once considered small, sickness-inducing demonic beings but many cultures today viewed them as gremlin-like creatures forced to package gifts for unruly children.

Namor was neither. He looked down at his pulsating body, thick bands of gold and jade enclosed around his neck and limbs and the rich, metallic sheen of his trunks. He was sure he'd caught her dark eyes lingering on his chest a couple of times. The arrogant prick comment, fine, but elf? Was the woman blind?

He'd agreed to all of the Princess' terms, spending the evening swimming around like he'd had one too many maya nuts. The Americans were moved into caves two levels higher than where they were originally; Juana was informed about her new duties while other guards patched up the dingy areas he'd left neglected around his cabin; he'd asked the head of his guard to put younger, talkative ones on Shuri's tail; and two seamstresses were assigned to make more items of clothing, at least one of which needed to be appropriate for sleeping, by Fen's estimates. The woman had nearly choked on her spit trying to tell him about the sad tracksuit she was forced to wear, but that got him thinking.

What did Shuri, Princess of Wakanda wear to bed?

Namor rubbed his eyes. What he really should have been doing was meeting Attuma, preparing the guard, memorizing a speech for his next council meeting, and planning three contingency plans in case Wakanda reneged on their agreement or the Americans beat them.

He shuddered to think what would happen if Wakanda lost. If they were so weak as to be defeated by mere mortals living with such crude weapons, then they deserved to be defeated and flushed out of this world. His world had no place for such empires.

But if there were anymore in Wakanda like Shuri...Shuri.

He rubbed his eyes again when Fen left. Somewhere, he had stopped thinking of her as 'woman' or 'the Princess' that almost brought about his end.