Shuri catches herself staring at Namor often.
She tells herself it is inevitable; the novel idea of having a husband has still not lost the sparkle to it, the thrill of excitement that rushes up her spine at the idea of being someone's and owning them in return.
Even if they are not the keepers of each other's hearts, they are at the very least the keepers of each other's countries.
And in so many ways, that is such a bigger and more momentous idea, is it not?
The other reason she finds herself staring is that Namor is…a consistent surprise.
Of course, he is.
Shuri was foolish to think that every little volley she sent his way, hoping to catch him up and trip him momentarily, he took with such stride, such ease, would even be noticed.
It would be frustrating if all of her almost ridiculous requests didn't have such satisfying results.
For example; early in their negotiations of how their agreement would go and what the wedding would be, Shuri threw out a request she was sure was going to stop Namor in his tracks, give her a chance to laud her superiority here. Because she does think she has some edge over him when it comes to the worlds apart from their own two.
She said; "I want a real honeymoon."
Namor had paused, scrutinizing her.
"Is that so?" He asked, but his tone was amused. Shuri expected an outright 'no', something to fight with, so she seethes and sighs.
"If I am to be married just this once, I want all the spectacles. We're having a big wedding and I'm wearing the poofy dress and will dance the Cha Cha slide at least once. So, in keeping with that, I wish for a honeymoon."
Namor considered it. She could see him turning the idea over in his head. Then, to her absolute frustration, he'd just stared her down.
"Where do you desire?"
This had caught Shuri off guard. It had been almost a throw-away, a joke she wanted to see how far she could push.
But she could not back down now.
No, she let this horse free, only right of her to ride it all the way to the finish line.
She had leaned over the table they sat, papers spread out in front of the both of them with scribbles and highlights, and had given a wry grin.
"Italy, Paris, Spain, and Greece." She threw out, seeing if he'd agree to her request.
"Not America?" He asked, "The country you hold so much confusing affection for?" The disdain in his voice was obvious. She knew he hated the Americans and she wasn't entirely against his assertion. She didn't wish death upon all Americans, but all they'd done to Namor was try to take from him and kill his people.
"No, She said, shoving her thoughts out of the way, "America is where you go when you want a good party. These locations are where you go when you get married." She leaned back in her chair, "Romance languages and all."
"If you wish it so badly," Namor had said, "Then yes. A honeymoon."
Shuri had examined Namor for any sign of frustration, any chinks in his armor, but frustratingly, there were none.
"Well," Shuri wasn't going to let this be dropped so easily, a win to be handed to him with such ease, "If you need help finding outfits to blend in-," She began, but Namor waved her away.
"I will handle just fine, Princess."
His dismissal frustrated her, but also made her squirm, a confusing mix of emotions swirling around her.
"Because if you want to stay more secretive, you'll need to-," She started again, and this time, Namor looked mildly annoyed.
"I don't need your aid." He'd said, almost snappishly, and Shuri had sensed pushing him too far would not be wise.
Plus, the heat of the fight wasn't as fun if one of them were actually mad.
So she'd let it go and almost forgotten about it, until today, when she sat with her luggage outside of Paris de Gaulle airport, searching for Namor.
She expected him to be dressed like a literal fish out of water; something woefully out of place and perhaps decades outdated, like someone had raided their grandfather's closet. And Shuri, in a light and airy dress with her hair slicked and modern, would graciously accept his plea for help navigating this confusing human world that he'd ignored for so long, and she'd show him that age wasn't everything.
However, he fit in so well that he managed to walk up next to her without her noticing.
"Waiting on someone, Princess?" He teased.
Shuri jumped around, a jape about his outfit falling dead on her lips as she looked him up and down.
It wasn't the most modern of outfits, but it didn't look fashionably outdated or even bad.
The first thing she noted was that he looked expensive. Everything was tailed perfectly, which Shuri knew was half of the battle of convincing someone you had money (not that she needed to worry…the Royal Line had plenty of funds), but until now she'd never really asked herself the question of if Namor had any worldly assets or not.
And this showed that he most likely did.
The second retaliation about his outfit was that even if it wasn't what all the models were sporting in the latest issue of Vogue, it looked good on him. More than good; exact. It was like he was born to wear the trousers and button-down shirt he had on like it would be blasphemy to imagine anyone else trying to wear the same look. Somehow, within five seconds on mortal land, Namor had claimed an entire aesthetic trend.
That bastard.
"You seem surprised, Shuri," Namor said, an eyebrow raised, and she could see amusement dancing in his eyes.
She waited until they were in their limo, trying to think of how to play this off. But, she was so tired from the flight and a bit overwhelmed by losing this so poorly that she opted for the truth.
"I did not expect you to be able to navigate anywhere above ground with such… finesse." She muttered.
But, even as she spoke it, she was kicking herself for being so foolish.
If her assumption had been true, Namor would have been talking like some odd Shakesperian shut-in, and so would all of his people. She would have been struggling to understand the way he talked.
But he hadn't. He'd made jokes with her for god's sake. Sure, he was very precise about his language and sentiments given, but there was no reason to believe at all that he hadn't grown with the world around him, as much as he may hate to admit such things.
Namor grinned openly at her admission.
"You think that I did not take the time to get to know my enemy?" Namor asked, leaning into her. She caught a whiff of cologne on him even; something still salty and tropical in nature, but clearly not a hasty drug-store buy.
"That includes trips to luxury department stores?" She asked, snorting, trying to hide the fact that she had misread all of this.
"Ah, well, one must blend in properly to do any good reconnaissance, hmm?" He pointed out, "And since I am not blue outside of the sea, I am the best choice. Plus, I would never ask my people to go places I would not also go." He explained, so openly and effortlessly, that it shocked Shuri. It was without a trade.
Or, she thought, a trade for such knowledge had yet to be requested.
"How often?" She asked, trying to recognize Namor not as some awkward wallflower at every party, but as a shapeshifter who blended in and no one noticed at all, a master of disguise and manipulation.
"Once every few years. It is within my interest to know what's going on up here, lest it affects me down beneath the waves. Usually a week or two. Often America, but sometimes China, Japan, Africa…" He gave a wry smile, letting his words sink in.
Shuri swallowed thickly, "You were in Wakanda before…before we knew each other?"
"Will it upset you to know?" He asked.
Shuri closed her eyes, considering it. She inhaled hard but then shook her head.
"Twice," He said, "And I swear it. The first long ago, when I realized that we were not the only place with such magic and power. And then, right after you joined the modern world. It seemed fair to know how my sister tribe was choosing to talk about the metal that kept me and my people alive, hmm?"
"Did you see me?" Shuri asked, "And my brother?"
One recurring regret is that T'Challa would never meet her husband. Even if they were wed under less than romantic circumstances, she'd always imagined him standing up for her wedding when she pictured the ceremony as a teenager.
"Yes," Namor said simply but offered no more on it. Probably better; that meant that he would have seen her as that boyish sixteen-year-old, straddling adulthood and childhood both, and it was better that Shuri be left behind, "Since it seemed you still had no knowledge of us and less desire to give out Vibranium to any political leader who asked, it seemed like I didn't need to return."
Shuri did not want to think what might have happened if Wakanda had chosen to be more generous with their gifts to the rest of the world. Most likely, death would have come to them early.
She knew Namor possessed the possibility of killing thousands, or even millions, to keep his people safe.
"So you are…" Shuri finally sighed, pressing her cheek to the cool glass of the car, "Comfortable in the modern world. Which is why you agreed so easily to my honeymoon."
She'd been looking forward to all the hilarious moments of cultural misunderstanding, almost like a movie montage, where she'd be the wise teacher. Like showing him how to use a fork or explaining what a cell phone was or having him taste a Hot Taki for the first time.
"I wouldn't say comfortable," Namor mumbled, as though forgetting that they were keeping their guard up around each other, or perhaps not even caring, "Having the ability, yes. Wanting to…no."
Shuri regarded him for a long second. More than a long second. Long enough for Namor to glance up, fingers flexing.
"What?"
"I don't believe you," She said with a shake of her head.
"Oh?" Namor leaned against his palm, fingers running through his hair, "Why would I lie?"
"I don't know, to game me? Either way, there are two big problems with this. Wing and ears."
"Ah," Namor nodded, "Wings are easy enough. Wear long pants," He said, motioning to his slacks, which did indeed cover his ankles.
"And the ears? What, you wore a hat everywhere you went?"
"No," Namor shook his head, "I think we can agree that there's magic in this world, unable to be explained."
Shuri huffed, "No, I don't agree with it."
"It's there, whether you do or not. And I'm not using it, but people… people see what they want to see. Do you think the world was ready to believe a man with pointed ears existed, or that if he did, there wasn't a totally reasonable explanation for it, some disease I contracted as a child, or some awful history they'd be rude to ask? No, people didn't want to imagine that there was more than the Avengers out there already…their own inability to grow was all that was needed."
Shuri tapped her foot in frustration on the car floor.
"Then why?" She muttered, "Why agree? It's clearly not some heartfelt concession to your dear wife." Her words were loaded with venom.
"You say that as though you assume I'll enjoy this," He said, voice tight, "While I begrudgingly agree that some modern touches are…not terrible," He said, struggling to find a kind way to describe it, "You know I much prefer my domain."
"Ah-ha!" Shuri was desperate to win even one tiny battle, "So it is a compromise."
"I suppose. If you must," He said, graciously granting her this win, which didn't feel as satisfying as she had hoped, "But I think it was needed. As much as we know why we wed, we've both seemed to have forgotten something vital."
Shuri frowned, looking him up and down, "The…garter throw? A guest book with some cheesy motto or a pun on one of our names? A brand deal?"
"No…we are married now," Namor said, almost delicately.
"I don't…well, yes, we are."
"We're husband and wife. And we hardly know each other. And we cannot spend every moment in competition with each other. When that novelty fades away, what would we be left with? It seemed…logical to choose this time to get to know you."
Shuri bit her tongue to reply back with a snarky, "Oh, just watch me." Her ability to hold a grudge or draw something out was legendary. She didn't, and as his words settled over her, her stomach twisted in a strange, almost fluttering way.
"I will stay in my palace and you will remain underwater. Hardly seems necessary," Shuri said, pulling herself away, placing as much space between Namor and herself as possible.
Namor seemed momentarily disappointed, and she wasn't sure if he meant for her to see that or if it was an error, a slip of the mask.
"I think we could have been friends at one point." He whispered.
"Until you killed my mother," Shuri said through gritted teeth, "So excuse me for not wishing to get to know you better."
"Fine," Namor said, also drawing away, eyes out the window, "It is of no consequence. Every moment we spend, intentional or not, I draw my own conclusions. I just thought perhaps you would be kind enough to give them to me freely."
"Where was kindness at the death of my people?" Shuri demanded, furious. The car drew to a stop outside of their hotel and Shuri shoved the car door open, stalking inside.
Namor followed, silent and solemn.
Still, infuriatingly, his scent wrapped around her and made her want to turn around and apologize or kiss him senselessly.
"No, you hate his guts," Shuri whispered to herself, perhaps in a vain attempt to convince herself wholly of this. She did hate some part of him, but an equal or bigger part was annoying attracted to him.
As they checked in, the front desk worker handed them two key cards, "Your rooms to the suite. Two bedrooms."
If she found it odd that although they were married and had written in the notes that they were on their honeymoon but they were choosing to sleep separately, nothing was said. Shuri had researched and picked hotels, however, that catered to celebrities and were known for their discretion, so perhaps this was one of the more normal things this employee saw.
It didn't matter. Shuri was glad Namor had booked them separate places to sleep, as she was not willing to slip into one singular bed with him.
As they got into the elevator, Namor snorted.
"What's so funny?" Shuri asked.
Namor stepped forward, his chest pressed against her back, his breath hot on her neck.
"Perhaps by the end of this honeymoon we'll only require one bed," He murmured. Shuri bit her lip and counted to three slowly before answering, trying to slow her racing heart.
"You'd like that."
Namor brushed against her, a bit more intentionally, and when she turned her head, she saw an insufferable smirk on his face.
"Sleep in a bed with my wife? You say it like you are unfamiliar with the concept." Namor said, teasing.
"I was considering sleeping with you on our honeymoon, as tradition," Shuri said, sure that this would be the thing to bother him. It seemed that despite being a god, he was equally just as much a man, "But now I'm pretty sure you don't deserve it."
A slight frown. She had him.
"I think you'll find yourself equally frustrated, darling ," Namor replied, grounding his teeth. Shuri shrugged.
"My powers of stubbornness are legendary. Ask-," She said, breaking off. She was about to say, 'ask my brother' or 'ask my mother', but dead men didn't talk. She inhaled uneasily, "Ask Okoye."
"Are you sure?" Namor said, "Because you know you've just declared war. You've challenged me," Namor said, pressing her against the door of their suite, closing it with the force of their bodies, his nose tracing up her neck and causing her breath to hitch, "And by the end, you will be begging me to take you."
"So haughty," Shuri managed to whisper, her breath only slightly warbling, "I'd like to see you try your best."
"Oh princess," His eyes were dark and stormy, "I have every intention to."