"Perhaps smile a bit more, or else everyone here is really going to think I forced you into this."
Shuri turned to see M'Baku at the threshold of her dressing room, where four people hurried around her, dressing her like a doll.
"I'm not upset. Just thinking." Shuri said faintly, though in reality she was trying to calm her heart rate, fluttering as fast as a hummingbird with no signs of slowing down, and trying to ease her nervousness because she'd already sweat through two towels.
"It was a joke, usista ," M'Baku teased, and Shuri gave a weak smile to be called such a casual family name. He had, in many ways, chosen Shuri as his younger sister, and today it was clear that he was trying to fill the void for her that should have been filled by the rest of her family.
"I'm fine," Shuri assured, "I chose this. I named my terms." Shuri said, staring at her nails, painted beautifully in a stunning red color.
"You know, if you say the word, I will call all this off," M'Baku said, and when she turned, she realized he was serious.
"What happened to 'I'm not asking, I'm telling'," Shuri asked, waving away the people dressing her for a moment, one blessed moment to herself.
"I was sure you'd agree, in time," M'Baku said, "But if you have true doubts, true worries-,"
"And we'd surely face the wrath of Talokan."
M'Baku gave a heady, familiar grin. One of self-assured overconfidence.
"We fought those fish people once, we can surely do it again," He said, banging his chest, "Don't Panthers eat fish? It would be as easy as a house cat fishing a goldfish from a bowl."
Shuri smiled at his bravado. She knew it to be true. He did feel that they could go to war again and win.
But Shuri knew that Namor would never let that happen again. That this marriage was for their sake as much as his; it would lead to destruction if either of their clans went to war with the other. They'd annihilate the other until the vibranium was a free-for-all for the countries of the world because there was no one left to protect it.
Mutually assured destruction halted by one thing and one thing only; two thin golden bands on each of their fingers.
Shuri tried not to think about how fraught this all really was.
"I want to marry Namor," Shuri added at M'Baku's look of doubt.
He gave a half-laugh, "I would practice that between now and the alter. If you say it like you just did, everyone will be positive I am making you do this against your will."
Shuri ground her teeth in frustration.
The funny thing was…she did want to do this. The safe reason to tell people, like Okoye who had been confused at best and horrified at worst at her choice, was that Shuri liked being of use. She thought her intelligence and her lab would be that useful, but time and circumstance changed things. If she could keep them all safe by doing this, Shuri would.
The more secretive reason was that Shuri wanted to see where all this static with Namor would go. It was a poor recipe, she admitted; two equal cups of sexual tension, one smirking immortal, one brainiac second child of a nation, and throw it all together before you even had time to let things marinate. Putting the wagon before the horse. Jumping the gun.
A disaster waiting to happen.
But how else would Shuri figure this out, or ever get this chance again?
Namor entice and intrigued her in ways no one else ever had. She knew this had to mean something, even if it was spelling her doom, but Shuri was far too precocious to let a good question go.
"Ah, well," M'Baku grunted, "Everyone is nearly here. I shall let you get back to…this," he said, waving an uncertain hand at her half-finished appearance.
"Thank you," Shuri said, reaching to touch his shoulder as he left, "Sincerely."
"I'm not quite sure what you have to be thanking me for," M'Baku said, "But, I will take the compliment anyway."
Shuri had M'Baku call back in the attendants and as they continued, Shuri dropped off into a half-waking, half-dreaming state, in which she did not feel the pinches, pricks, and paintings on her body.
"Princess, you are done."
Shuri startled awake, as though she'd fallen asleep.
She frowned at her reflection, taken aback. One of the attendants noticed her expression.
"Is it not to your liking?" She asked, "We can-,"
"No, no, I look…" Shuri struggled for the word, flipping through any that she knew to try to express herself, but fell short, "Like a bride." She finally finished with.
The attendants shared glances and giggles, "Isn't that the idea?"
What Shuri meant to say is that she looked like an adult. That she looked worthy of someone marrying a god. That she looked like the sort of person that was throwing such a big wedding as she was, like she'd finally stepped into that place that had always been held for her, but she never thought she'd take on.
Shuri, more than anything, did not look like herself.
Whenever she pictured herself in her mind's eye, it was the Shuri from adolescence. Shuri with teeth a little crooked, limbs gangly, boyish and uncoordinated, body somewhere awkwardly between a child and a woman, and hair wild and untamed.
That's how Shuri always saw herself. Not as graceful as her late mother, strong as her brother, or wise as her father. She was always the ugly duckling to the side, with emphasis on the first part.
But this Shuri seemed like an entirely different person in front of her. A woman. Someone who would look back on the Shuri she thought she was with pity, or perhaps embarrassment.
It took a few beats for Shuri to realize the woman in the reflection was herself and she'd long shed the skin of the Shuri she was when Wakanda had first joined the modern world. It seemed like eons and years uncountable between that, but somehow she'd stayed the same.
Until today.
"I like it," Shuri finally found a rough voice to reply, overcome with a sense of displacement. She wanted to be this Shuri. The one that looked like she'd make choices about marriage with certainty and no one would doubt her. The one that seemed ready to take on the holes in the sand her brother and parents had left behind. Someone who knew all about makeup and what to wear and when to wear it. Shuri certainly enjoyed fashion in an almost childish whimsical way, but makeup had always been a chessboard where she didn't know the moves, but she was beginning to come to terms with it.
For the first time since agreeing to this marriage, Shuri felt like she actually ready.
XXX
The wedding, on the Wakanda side, had been thrown together in six months, which Shuri is told is a feat in itself. Not impossible, and certainly not when you're a princess of one of the most influential and forward innovation nations, but it is a difficult task nonetheless.
It hadn't seemed that way to Shuri. Apart from answering a few wayward questions, like what colors she wanted the flowers to be or what kind of cake she wanted to be served, it seemed like she did little to nothing at all.
She now, perhaps, was realizing that a great more work had gone into it than she'd first assumed.
Her first and biggest request had been that this is a day shared by all of Wakanda. She was doing this for them, even if the average layman wouldn't understand that, so all of her people should reap the benefits. All members were welcome to the food, dance, and drinks being served at her wedding and anyone in slightly important standing had a seat at the wedding.
That already brought their numbers quite high.
After that, it had been Everett Ross- currently seeking asylum in Wakanda- that had pointed out that they should make it a spectacle.
"The world has no idea you're the new Black Panther, or that there even is one. They do know you are a princess, M'Baku's role aside. Think of Kate and William. People went crazy over them."
"People erroneously worship the British Monarch," Okoye said with a disbelieving snort.
"Look, Wakanda has the world's interest. And a princess getting married is a big deal anywhere. They'll want to see it. Consider it trading some goodwill for later."
"You really think the Americas will be a better ally if they see me say 'I Do'?" Shuri asked.
"It sounds stupid-," Ross began, and M'Baku snorted.
"When don't you say something foolish?"
"Sound stupid, granted," Ross tried again, "But you there are some things that Americans in particular love…The Avengers and a love story." He raised an eyebrow, "And everyone likes to imagine they could be a prince or princess too."
"This is not a love story," Shuri replied snappishly.
"Of course," Ross hardly seemed ruffled, "But who would ever even know?"
So Shuri had done a big deal of it, which she actually turned out to enjoy.
Once her invitation list was filled with her own people, dignitaries, and allies they'd be rebuking if they failed to invite, and had been sure to ask if Namor wanted anyone there (he declined), Shuri went crazy with the invites.
First; any Avenger she could track down. Her brother's former connection with the super-powered group helped with real identities, but locating them proved far more challenging than expected.
Her biggest hope was that Bucky would show up since she'd spent so long helping him go from a killing robot to a grumpy half-articulated human. As she peered through the glass into the wedding hall and saw the gleam of his metallic arm, she couldn't help but let out a grin.
Other than the Hulk, who was green and large, it was hard to see which other Avengers were currently present.
After the Avengers, Shuri sat down and thought of any celebrity that she admired and invited them to. Because the wedding hall was large, she had many seats to fill. Her guest list was full of more stars than the night sky itself.
The entire wedding hall was exploding in flowers. It looked like a florist accidentally dumped their entire contents into the back hallway, or at least this is what Shuri would have snidely joked with someone else if she'd been in attendance and this was someone else's day.
All she could think, as she caught glimpses of the foliage from where she stood outside of the doors, was that it looked ethereal.
She also did not want to know how expensive it was to cover every inch in garlands and flora.
"Are you ready?" Nakia asked. She wished Little T'Challa could be here, but with all the pomp and circumstance, someone would surely notice a near-clone of the fallen Avenger. He was watching remotely, as many of her country's patrons were, but she wished more than anything she could hug him and pretend, for a second, it was her brother.
"You know, he'd think you were beautiful," Nakia said, always reading everyone so precisely. Of course, Shuri reminded herself, she was a spy and this was her job.
"I'd want him here to tell me I'm right," She whispered, "And I am not about to make a huge mistake."
"You're far too smart for that," Nakia laughed, "And if it's not what you think it is, you make it something else. That's what marriage is, isn't it?"
"Are you choosing the time to tell me now that you and T'Challa were married as well?" Shuri asked, tone dry, "Because I think today can only take so many big moments."
"No, but we were close enough to it. And we talked about it. For Touissant." Nakia said, a faraway half-smile on her lips, "I think we would have. Perhaps you should ask Okoye for some sage wedding tips?"
Okoye snorted, "I do not think W'Kabi and I are the paragon of a good relationship."
"You haven't killed each other yet, though," Nakia added, somewhat unhelpfully, "And that has to count for something."
Shuri tried to grin, but deep down, all she wished for was her mother. She would impart some sage advice; most of it embarrassing, but some would be genuinely helpful. And Shuri would gladly take her mother's reminiscing about the early days of dating and marriage to Shuri's father just to hear her voice one more time.
"Oh, dear," Nakia whispered, rubbing Shuri's shoulders, "They are here. With you. In here," She assured, placing a fist gently against Shuri's chest.
"You know I don't believe that," Shuri whispered, using the pads of her fingers to wipe along her waterlines, "But it is almost a nice thought."
"Okay! Are we ready-," M'Baku clapped his hands as he walked in, but stopped short, "Why is she crying? Should I leave?"
Aneka sniggered, "A man is the strongest force in the world until faced with a crying woman," She teased.
"It just seems like a moment not meant for me," M'Baku tried to back peddle, "I have been around many crying women."
"Yes, that absolutely makes that statement better," Aneka continued.
"It's fine. I'm alright, I'm fine," Shuri said, waving her hand, collecting herself, "Brides are meant to cry on their wedding, are they not?" At the uncomfortable silence, she sighed, "Bast, people, you can laugh. It's fine. Seriously."
"If you are sure-," M'Baku began.
"I am. I am and I wish to get this show on the road," Shuri said with a series of short claps, "And get to the wedding food that smells absolutely delicious."
Back to her joking attitude, the people around Shuri relaxed.
"I'll let the orchestra know," Nakia said, slinking into the hall as Shuri found her place at the back of the line, taking the arm that M'Baku offered to her.
In line before her, Okoye, Aneka, and Nakia lined up for the entrance, wearing matching Wakandan ceremonial dresses.
Shuri did not hear the procession song. All she could focus on was the ground beneath her feet, sure she'd trip and tumble down the aisle if she did not watch her steps.
Riri was sitting with Ross, and her scientist friend, who she'd kept up a casual correspondence with since returning her to America, gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up, which gave her a boost of confidence she wasn't expecting.
She caught the eye of a few of the Avengers; Barton, Banner, Lang, Strange, Wilson, Bucky- but their eyes were not on Shuri but on M'Baku. And they were grieving silently, as though wishing in the same way that Shuri was that it was T'Challa giving her away instead.
Namor was at the front, wearing something that was vaguely Wakandan. His ankles were covered and he was solitary.
It had been long back and forths about whether to use this moment to bring his nation to light, but he had firmly declined and argued at every turn. And since it would draw more questions to have a convoy of blue-skinned humans sitting near him, Namor was alone.
However, his presence just excited the crowd. Who was this person Shuri was marrying? Surely a princess was marrying someone of status, so who could he be?
The questions were whispered, some loudly and some quietly, and he was a bigger interest than Shuri herself.
"You look beautiful," Namor said when she reached the end of the aisle, though she was sure it was for the optics. Eyes narrowed, she tried to decipher his real feelings. Perhaps it was close enough to the truth; she watched as his eyes traveled her up and down and his lips parted slightly, before he pressed them together, giving one nearly imperceptible nod.
The ceremony and the party afterward were a strange mixture of American, Wakandan, and some other customs that Shuri couldn't even place. It was a mash of everything thrown at the wall, hoping something would feel natural.
The only moment Shuri recalled from the whole night with clarity, as though someone dumped ice down her back, was the moment she was welcomed to kiss her husband.
In between the wild, almost frantic thought that Shuri was now somebody's wife she watched as Namor cupped her cheeks with such reverence and pulled her into a kiss.
And to everyone watching, she was sure they looked the picture of love.
But this wasn't love. Shuri was not naive enough to think so.
She knew what it was; as Namor's tongue slid between her lips and she had to pause her hands from grasping and tugging, she felt all the emotions between them swirling so loudly in her head it was like a churning waterfall.
Lust. Desire. Hatred. Respect. Frustration.
It was impossible to tell whose emotion belong to who, or perhaps it was all together, swirling in the pit of her stomach, confusing her brain between wanting to tear his clothes off to kill him or to fuck him.
And even the thought of that, of that word with the aspirated 'k' at the end of it, with such dirty and unusual thoughts invading Shuri's mind, shocked her. About how she wanted him to do things to her, things she'd only read about in cheesy bodice-ripper romance novels.
He tasted like seawater. It was a sharp, salty taste, one she recognized instantly. There were other notes beneath that, but all she could think of was that he tasted like the sea.
And she wanted to explore to see if the rest of his skin tasted that way too.
When they pulled apart, Namor's eyes darkened with desire and mild surprise, there was a thunderous amount of clapping, so overwhelming it almost seemed like a thunderstorm.
They shook hands with hundreds of people, ate good African cuisine, and Shuri danced and hugged her friends.
There was more than one suggestive waggle or wink directed at her, and at the very least, Shuri was pleased no one thought her husband to be unbecoming. If anything, she was gathering that most people found Namor very attractive, and Shuri wasn't sure what to do with such information.
She wasn't jealous, but she wasn't blaise about this either. She just filed it away under the 'confusing' box in her brain, which seemed to be bursting at the seams with thoughts of Namor.
When they spent the appropriate amount of time at the reception, they bid their farewell.
"What now?"
"Now," Namor said as he led her down to the beach, "It's time for my ceremony."
When Namor had broached the idea of doing two ceremonies; a Wakanda one and a Talokan one, Shuri's first thought had been to blurt, "Just like Nick and Priyanka!"
She didn't, of course, because she doubted Namor had any idea who that was.
She was exhausted, though, and the thought of another wedding made her want to take a nap right on the sand.
"It will not be like that," Namor said, a hint of humor, "Much shorter."
"Thank Bast," Shuri muttered, "The process of getting married is quite the production. I suppose that's why you only do it once?" She added, halfway joking.
"If I have any say," Namor said, seriously, and she felt her stomach drop and tingle.
She swallowed back her desire.
XXX
The people in Talokan dressed her in jade, letting it drip from every inch of her.
In the time between her first trip and the marriage, Shuri had researched. And she'd discovered that jade was a stone that was highly respected by Namor and his people. Which made her consider that Namor had been serious when he told Shuri that he'd wanted this from the start.
Her face was painted with crushed gemstones so that her skin gleamed. She felt like a goddess even more now, but still out of place and unsure.
As Namor promised, the second ceremony was much shorter. More intimate. Sure, the whole of his nation was there, watching underwater, but it felt much smaller.
And they seemed so happy. Shuri's worries that she would never be accepted were washing away like sea foam on the top of a wave, and she felt welcome here.
Which was a blessing, considering she was bound to spend six months out of the year here.
A part of Shuri's dress was tied to the shawl Namor wore. He didn't wear much else other than shorts, a stark contrast from their Wakanan wedding. She supposed that you didn't need to wear much under the ocean.
Shuri snorted.
"What's amusing?"
"Tying the knot, you know," She said, waving to their linens knotted at the ends. Namor blinked at her, uncomprehendingly, "It's an idiom. An idiom is-,"
"I know what that is, Princess," Namor said, offering what seemed like an amused smile, though it was hard to tell if he was laughing with her or at her.
"Oh, well. It just…right," Shuri waved her hand away, embarrassed.
Then they were done.
And they were husband and wife twice over.
They were brought back to the caves she recalled staying in the first time.
"Your palace will be built by the time you return for your first year," Namor assured, "The people were very eager to create something beautiful for you."
"They shouldn't have," Shuri whispered, feeling guilty. She was the odd one out, she was the one unable to breathe underwater and live with them. It felt strange for them to be jumping at this project.
"They want to see their king married and their queen happy," Namor assured, reaching for her hand. No rings; just the bracelet he'd given her, "You are part of us too, now."
Shuri hummed, unbelieving. She didn't think she'd ever feel so, but it was almost sweet of Namor to say such things.
"I see a new drawing has been added," Shuri said, ducking into the hut that had the pictographs on the wall. She grinned at the depiction of her panther.
"It seemed right to add to it, finally, though I'll have to add our marriage."
Shuri turned, taken aback, "You…you drew it?" She asked.
Namor gave a firm nod, but it seemed he hadn't expected such a surprising response, "I always have. I have been long enough to chart our history, of course," He added.
"I…didn't know you liked to," Shuri said, moving forward to draw her fingers over the delicately painted rock. She didn't mean to sound kind or awed, but perhaps some part of her was reaching out, realizing that a marriage of firm and sour scowls would be a disappointing marriage indeed. There had to be some common ground somewhere, and she could understand him better if he was an artist. What was she in her lab if not one too?
"I haven't ever done other works," Namor said, face knit into a frown, "It has not occurred to me."
"I'd be interested to see you try," Shuri said, turning around with a smile slipping out, "I think you'd be very good."
Namor's lips twitched, "Perhaps, but come cihuatl ," He says, and though she does not know this language, she can guess, "There is more for us to do tonight."
Anxiety and anticipation seized Shuri and gripped her as his words settle in.
"To… consummate," She whispers.
Namor looks back, amused. "So formal," He says, and she is embarrassed by her language, "Do you wish it to be like that?"
Shuri manages a firm shake of her head. She doesn't. She wants it to be organic and, Bast, feel good.
Namor brings her to a hot spring. He takes off his cloth, but leaves the shorts on, offering Shuri his hand. His palm is calloused and large in her smaller one, but it's warm and his fingers rub carefully over her knuckles like he's easing a jittery horse forward.
"To relax," He says. A Shuri stands, feet on the first step, she can't help but feel like this is almost romantic. The cavern is lit by candles, and there's a kraft of wine with two glasses, and a plate of fruit waiting, "Is it your first time?"
Shuri locks her jaw, "Is it yours?" She snips back, refusing to answer, but probably doing so anyway.
"No. In that case, we'll go to your pace," He says.
"But-," Shuri frowns. Somehow, she'd built herself up to believe that he'd insist upon it tonight, no matter what.
"I am not that sort of person," Namor says quietly, almost furiously, and she can tell she hit a nerve, "And the kingdoms would be pleased with a child, but our marriage is not solely for the creation of heirs. And even when we do, we have time to spare."
"Well, you do," Shuri sighs, fingers shaking as she takes off her dress to leave herself in just her underwear, and she tries to convince herself it's no different than a swimsuit, "Being immortal and all."
"We both do," Namor assures, dragging her into the blessedly warm pool, "Wine?"
Shuri nods and lets him pour her a glass. She sips and a surprising taste hits her tongue.
"What's this?" She asks.
"A blend I had made for the occasion. Hints of pepper, orange, and pomegranates."
"It's good," Shuri mumbles into her glass, frustrated by how wonderful this all has been.
Between the wine, the food, and the water, Shuri finds she is relaxed. And Namor is not urging her in any way, and though their conversation is a bit stilted, Shuri finds herself thinking that this might just work for the first time since the day began.
It's like someone snapping two live wires against each other, creating a momentary spark, just enough courage for Shuri to reach out and kiss Namor again.
This, it seems, is the invitation he'd been waiting for.
Immediately, or perhaps that's how Shuri had set it out, to begin with, the kiss turns heavy. Namor's hands are pushing up her bra, grasping at her breasts which Shuri has always found too small, but he doesn't seem bothered.
Shuri grasps his shoulders, and she realizes that this too is a fight. A very different sort of fight, but one in which they're both trying to get the upper hand. A fight where the goal is to not draw the first blood but draw the first breathless moan from one another. A fight where things get equally warm and hot and sweaty.
There is so much overlap that it almost seems natural to Shuri.
She is caught off guard when Namor's fingers slip beneath her underwear, tugging it down her leg.
"That's hardly fair," Shuri huffs, "That I'm naked and you're not."
"It's not about me tonight," Namor says, and confused, Shuri is about to ask, until his head sinks below the water.
The first touch of his tongue to her clit has her body wracked with electricity.
She's never done this.
Boys, few and far between, have attempted to get her off with fumbling fingers and friction, and Shuri herself has attempted quite a few ways to do it best by herself, but this is an action that requires two and Shuri has not wanted anyone else to do.
Namor's teeth catch, just teasingly, before he is licking again, the piece in his nose pressing up against her, and Bast-he has no right to be so good at this!
She looks down and catches sight of his dark hair between her thighs and wants to reach out and press him on, knit her fingers in his hair, but catches herself.
Shuri is not this woman. The woman that lets herself get eaten out in a cave. The woman that moans loud enough for anyone to hear. The woman that gets married to a god.
Like a vibration pushed through the water, Namor lifts his head above the waterline, fingers gripping her legs to push it apart, eyes dark again.
"Shuri, you are so inside of your own head," He teases, "Just enjoy it. No one knows and if they did, they wouldn't care."
Instantly, Shuri is ten again.
Those words fling her to her childhood.
She'd heard people say that to her many times, only ever with frustration, but this time in particular she is with her brother.
She knows that T'Challa is being kind to play with his kid sister; he's fifteen years older than her, after all, and a twenty-five-year-old willingly spending time with a child shows his gentleness. But he is still her brother, and when they're picking out cars to race, cars Shuri has made in her free time, he gets frustrated.
"Just pick one out, already!" He huffs.
"Yes, but I need to pick right!" She squawks back, "Because the green one is the fastest, but it slows down if this race goes long and I don't win first. And the red one takes a while to reach full speed, but if it goes short, I'm sure to lose. And the purple one-,"
"Bast, Shuri! Stop burning your mind so violently and just pick one! It's supposed to just be fun. Who cares if you lose?" T'Challa snaps back.
"I do!" Shuri says and presses her tongue to the back of her teeth to hold her tears in.
T'Challa doesn't understand.
Shuri is strange; an oddity. She's a genius, but she's ten and already taking college classes. She already has a lab. She already has a preliminary idea of Grigot.
She isn't any great beauty. She's not the most socially suave princess out there. She hardly has a handle on political subterfuge and she hates tradition. She's not good at spying or acting like a Queen as her mother is.
All Shuri has is her intellect and she is terrified of what she would be without it.
So she must always win, must always be the best in the room, because what good is such intellect if it can not be used properly?
She's been called all the insults in the book about being too smart, but none of it hurt as much as her brother thinking her too caught up in her own thoughts.
"Shuri."
It's not her brother's voice, it's Namor's.
Her jaw is locked as she is stiff, staring down at him, offended.
"You don't like letting go of your power, I understand," Namor says, in one sentence reading her more effectively than anyone else ever had, "But you are allowed to feel good, or enjoy this."
"I-," Shuri stutters.
"Just empty your mind. And if you do not like it, I'm sure those thoughts will come right back in," He says.
Shuri wants to fight him, to argue, and stubbornly refuse, but she too wonders what it would be like. To be the woman she saw in that wedding dress, the woman she wants to be.
Wives enjoy sex with husbands, at least if they do it right, she reasons.
And what is the harm in trying?
Shuri settles back into the water, drains her mind of hesitations, and swears by the end of it she sees into eternity.
