One year later, standing on the beaches of Namor's domain, Shuri felt a strangeness rising in her that was overwhelming compared to the emotions last year and equally as mysterious.
She chalked it up to the equivalency of travel.
You always think the first day is going to be the worst after jet setting half-way around the world. And then you're lulled into a false sense of security when you feel right as rain.
What you don't realize is that the true jetlag and exhaustion sets in two days after you arrive, and all your foolish arrogance about beating the travel bug and all make you regret your thoughts.
That's how this must be, Shuri reasoned.
The first year of her marriage had been almost too easy. She'd told herself that this is how it was meant to be. The days had passed with little to no issue.
Their first anniversary and into their second year, or the proverbial second day, was bound to be worse.
She fidgeted her toes in the sand.
Why had she ever thought that that first year would be indicative of anything? She'd almost used it like a vacation; she'd lounged in the sun, read as much as she could, and most of her time just setting up her lab to her exact specifications, which in itself was a five-month sprint. She hadn't left the palace more than once or twice and certainly hadn't attempted to visit Namor underwater.
Namor came and visited her like he was her booty call or stripper on demand.
They had a lot of sex.
Riri was right; why punish herself the entire time?
It was always the same energy…rough, needing, and desperate. They didn't share niceties under blankets, or heads on pillows with noses nearly brushing. They didn't cuddle or spoon or rub each other's hair afterward, laughing as they recounted their day.
It didn't mean that they weren't talking at all…Namor made a point to eat with her at least once a day, whether it be for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. At times, Shuri wondered if he wished her to join him, but he never pushed her, never bothered.
Those first few weeks at the table, the one so intimate and close, had been stilted and stuttering. Neither seemed to really know how to talk to each other, not properly, not even as sort of friends or acquaintances.
Time made it easier.
Some very small part of Shuri was terrified, as her end of six months grew near, that they'd lose this progress if she left. That when she came back, they'd be strangers to each other once again.
Namor must have seen it on her face, because with five days before she was set to return to Wakanda, he spoke softly.
"You are free to stay here longer than the settled agreement," He rasped, "You are always free to stay as long as you wish."
Something about Namor saying it jolted her out of this fantasy.
She didn't know why, but her brain rebelled against it as soon as he spoke it.
"I have no intention of abandoning Wakanda just yet," She spat, almost angrily. Perhaps upset at herself for allowing a moment to even consider it.
Namor nodded, and it seemed he had been expecting it, so his response was just a long, tired sigh.
"The option is always there."
Shuri had told herself it wouldn't change, but she had been silly to think that.
The very fact that she was nervous on the beach now proved it.
It's not as though she hadn't seen Namor at all in the six months since she'd returned back home. Just as she had been called away three times for Black Panther purposes (though, one had been a post-wedding party organized by Bucky, so that one didn't strictly count), there were times that she was fluid in the 'six months' term.
Namor was integrated into her life, and therefore into the lives of Wakanda. It was impossible to separate him. And, as allied nations, it would be strange to think he wouldn't appear at monthly meetings or be called upon on occasion to straighten out political things that M'Baku mostly took care of. Shuri was always there, never disinvited.
The first time that he'd arrived in Wakanda after she'd returned, it had been unbearably awkward. The entire council could almost feel the tension and unsureness from both of them, not quite willing to sit next to each other, but unsure where else they should sit.
M'Baku solved that by the next time, wanting nothing to distract from actual important matters, with name placards for everyone in assigned seating. He lied and said it was for the benefit of everyone, but Shuri knew that it was because of her.
And some part of her hated knowing this truth.
But no one could say M'Baku wasn't rooting for this marriage as hard as anyone else. He'd sat them next to each other and that was pretty much the end of that. No juvenile 'should we sit next to each other' that felt fairly reminiscent of puppy-dog crushes in a school cafeteria.
They mostly ended up in Shuri's room or Namor's suite afterward, tearing clothes off each other and biting each other's palms to keep from moaning loud enough for other people to hear it.
That was, at the very least, something more than the ocean palace had going for it; apart from a few scattered staff, no one was really around to hear them, so they could be as loud as they wished. Though, Shuri would be lying if she didn't say that having to keep quiet, knowing Namor was doing the most to make her cry out, turned her on in ways beyond her.
Afterward, same as in the Ocean Palace, Namor would go back to his room.
No one in Wakanda questioned it. They all knew Shuri had done this as a political match. She was their princess, the last heir (as far as they knew) to the original bloodline. If Shuri wanted to sleep in a room separate from her husband, none of her people would make a fuss about it.
As Shuri huffed, wondering what could possibly keep Namor so long, as though he could sense her frustration, he rose from the water.
"What kept you?" She asked, wading into the water, and letting the warm salt spray up against her knees.
"I was waiting to see how long you'd wait there."
Shuri took her water-repellant bag and swung it at him, hating that he'd made her look foolish.
"You don't have to wait for me to fetch you, Shuri," Namor scolded, "These waters are just as much yours as mine."
"It's not the equivalent of me waiting outside someone's house and ringing the doorbell," Shuri snapped, though it absolutely had been, "How am I to get there?"
Namor snorted, "We both know from Nakia's 'rescue' that you have the means to get down there, you just don't want to." He offered an arm, "Perhaps I should feel pleased that you wait so dutifully for me."
"Don't let it go to your head," Shuri muttered, rolling her eyes.
The trip down filled her with a burst of joy that was unexpected and a bit unwelcome. She told herself it was just exciting to see Zizi. She'd tried to take her cat back with her to Wakanda, sure that Okoye and Aneka would dote on the little black slinky thing, but she'd put up such a caterwaul when Shuri tried to put her in a cat carrier that it was decided Zizi was tied to Talokan. Namor had called her a spirit animal, an essence. She was bound here, for better or worse.
It at least gave Shuri something to look forward to.
"Where's my baby?" She crooned, and Zizi came bursting from around the corner into Shuri's arms, purring and pressing its little face up into her cheeks.
"She's been well cared for," Namor assured, and Shuri was about to ask if it was by the staff, but from the way Zizi jumped down to ring around Namor's legs, it was apparent that Namor had taken this task upon himself. Something about Namor taking such careful care of a small, fragile animal had her conjuring images of Namor as a cat-dad, something that filled her with laughter that she couldn't keep to herself.
"What?" Namor asked, picking Zizi up and petting him.
Shuri, badly, tried to explain the images that she was sure were absolutely hilarious to her but sounded much less funny on the way out of her mouth.
Namor shrugged, "We both missed you. We bonded over that." He said, as simple as day. The ocean was blue, the sand was beige and Namor missed her.
Had she missed him?
Some part of her told her that, yes, of course, she had.
Another part of her wasn't so sure.
"I'm back now," Shuri said, speaking to Zizi, but couldn't keep her eyes from flickering up to Namor's face, trying to catch his response to this.
"For six months," He said, a sort of strange smile on his face, "Perhaps you will grow bolder this year."
"Perhaps," Shuri said, though that had been her hope. Maybe try to visit Namor in Talokan once or twice and invite Riri or Bucky or Okoye and Aneka here for a weekend visit. If it was allowed.
"Of course it is," Namor said, "You're not-," He started, frustrating tinging his tone, but he cut himself off, swallowing back what might have been words of anger, "If you wish to have friends visit, I would never begrudge you that." And then, what seemed like forced humor, or an attempt to realign himself from his frustration, "There are plenty of rooms."
Which was true. Shuri could have all four of them, plus their thirty closest friends, and she would maybe have reached the capacity of this palace. Namor had done it right. No expense had been spared, and that meant making sure this place could hold the entirety of an American Football team.
Shuri wondered if Namor liked sports. If he was introduced to it, would he become just like any other guy?
The idea of Namor being born in different circumstances, one in the present day, where he was not a god and not so heavily tied with such a great responsibility, was a recent and numerous ponder of hers. About what he may be like if they met somewhere else, in some other place in time.
"Seashell for your thoughts?" Namor asked.
"Is that your money system?" Shuri said, his question drawing away her meandering mind.
"We don't use money," Namor shook his head, "We're small enough that whatever is needed is shared amongst the people. I suppose bartering systems would be more apt."
"Huh," Shuri said, and filed that away in 'information about Talokan that she absolutely should know as their queen (and was a bit embarrassed she didn't yet)'.
"We've always been small in numbers. Powerful; but small." Namor continued, "And I'm sure modern nations would scoff at our numbers, but it allows me to know everyone intimately. And I like it better that way." He tilted his head, deep in thought, "Though, times are changing."
"Is it by choice? Or a necessity?" Shuri asked, "The birth rates." At Namor's face, she got the feeling she overstepped, "Sorry, not my place-,"
"Gods, Shuri. It's your place. You're my wife; their queen. I want you to ask questions. I want you to care. I want you to feel like they matter to you," Namor said, his nose flaring slightly, "When will you remember that?
"Perhaps the next time," She muttered, feeling stupid.
Namor ruffled out his shoulders, sighing, "It's a mixture of things. I suppose I paint is as positive, to keep morale. But the seas have become more worrisome for food in more recent years. The modern world is ever encroaching on us. Seas and reefs are vanishing. And we do not have the…" He licked his lips, "Infrastructure. Not as Wakanda does." He gave a hopeful smile, "I hope in time you may wish to…help me with this. Talokan deserves to grow like any other nation, and I cannot help but feel I'm stifling it sometimes."
"I want to help," Shuri said, empathetically, "I would have just killed you if I didn't care for your people."
"Yes, but," Namor was trying to find words, Shuri could tell, "I want you to love them. Perhaps it's unfair to be asking that of you so soon, but they are all my children. Not just random cousins, or long-lost relatives, but I feel like they are all mine. "
"I understand that."
"Do you?" Namor questioned, then shook his head, "Look, a good show of faith would be joining me tonight for a wedding. The bride is very enthralled with you and I think it would mean a lot for you to attend."
"Is it…under the water?" Shuri asked.
"Where else would it be?"
"Am I to use that clunky and awkward suit again?" She asked, sighing at the prospect.
"Unless you've made a better way."
"No." Shuri dropped her bags, having reached her suite, "I will go. How soon?" She asked, peering at the sky out the window.
"A few hours. Rest up. Get ready. I will return when it is time." He lingered for a moment, and Shuri wondered if he was waiting to be invited to stay. If Shuri was a normal girl and this was her boyfriend, she'd ask him to sit on her bed while she held out dresses and eyeshadow colors and they'd gossip and laugh and such.
But her marriage was not like that.
She felt a hint of relief when he left.
Shuri could not be too upset that the accommodations for her to go down were not quite as elegant as she'd wished; she was the first person to ever be granted such permissions, so of course this wasn't a huge priority. Even now, she was an artificer, surely they figured if she wanted something more streamlined, she could do it herself.
She put that on her list for this year…she had a feeling Namor would be nudging her to see his kingdom more and more and she wanted to not feel like a transformer when she did so.
The bride stuttered and gasped at her appearance and though she did not speak an overlapping language as Shuri (another for the list; learn Namor's dialect and language) smiles and hugs spoke well enough.
One thing Shuri was very put out about was that the food looked incredibly tasty and she could not taste a single bite. She could not even get drunk on their mead, which was very enticing to her. All she could do was stand awkwardly in the corner, waving at people and feeling more out of place than ever before.
"Your Highness."
There was a voice that wasn't Namor's, and it was tinged with half-amusement, half-tightly coiled disdain.
Shuri turned to see one of the warriors that had helped in Namor's raids.
"Attuma, isn't it?" She asked. It seemed that between him and Namora, they were Namor's right-hand people and the only others who spoke English.
"Yes."
His answer was clipped.
"You don't have to genuflect or use such titles," Shuri rolled her eyes, "You're not hiding your dislike very well."
Nothing new. She knew that Namor's decision to marry her, by warriors, was not a popular one. The layman seemed to enjoy her, but those that fought against her had opposed it. Namor had told her this much.
"Namor would yell at me for disrespecting his wife. I'd rather do as he asks," Attuma says, "But I don't have to do it happily."
What a shame the only other people who spoke English were people that hated her guts. Just her luck.
She'd better learn Talokanan quickly if she wanted to have meaningful talks with anyone here.
"I won't tell, I promise," Shuri said, snorting.
"You are not…upset?" Attuma seemed surprised.
"Do you wish for a fight?" Shuri turned, her voice cold, "Because I am much different than the girl on the bridge. I could tear your throat out."
She wished she could say she was pleased to see a flash of fear in his eyes, but she wasn't. This wasn't who she wanted to be. And she didn't want to kill people. She did not want to win people with fear.
"No, I'm not upset," Shuri responded, sighing, and Attuma seemed to relax as she turned away, "I'm the one he married, despite it all, right?" She pointed out, "I'm sure many have tried over the years, but he still chose me."
And even if they were not married for love, Shuri felt a curl of something warm in her chest knowing this.
From Attuma's stony silence, she knew this to be true.
"And I must reason you have a good reason for disliking me. Neither you nor Namora seems like unintelligent people." She continued.
"We are protective of Namor," Attuma said quietly after a long moment, "It seems silly. He is a god, of course. And we don't mean physically protect him, though we are his bodyguards. Not that I think you'd hurt him…" He frowned, "More than you have."
Shuri caught the way the scars down Namor's back shone in the light cutting through the waves, a reminder of how they'd both torn each other up.
"No, I do not plan to." Shuri agreed, "And I take it you mean… emotionally?" She asked, though mildly confused.
"A god, one who lives so long, can sometimes be blindsided. It is hard for him to see the picture in terms of us, the bigger picture. Which may be difficult to understand. He just views time differently. And sometimes we must remind him."
"Ah," Shuri laughed, genuinely, "You assumed I was the equivalent of a teenager rebelling and saying to his father 'but dad! I love her!'." At Attuma's blank face, and a reminder that perhaps these people would enjoy partaking in movies or pop culture if given the chase, she reworded, "You assumed it was a flight of fancy for him. And you did not want to have him choose a marriage based on…what in his time is a mere summer, in terms of his lifetime."
"Yes," Attuma said.
Shuri examined Namor, sighing deeply, "I suppose I had not considered that. That our time together will be so fleeting for him that it will only seem like days to him, when for me it is years," She said, "I hadn't…" She swallowed.
What would she do when she grew old and Namor stayed the same…forever?
"Namor also is a man with deep emotion. I know, it is hard to see that at first. But we are his children." Attuma continued.
"I heard him say as much."
"No, you misunderstand. He loves us so deeply. He cares like a father. He worries for all of us and cries at births and weddings and funerals…" Attuma said.
"And you're worried what that love will look like with me? Not paternal, but romantic." Shuri guessed. But that wasn't right. She saw it in Attuma's expression. Understanding hit her like lighting, "You are concerned about what it will be like when he has an actual blood child."
"We must sound like toddlers throwing tantrums," Attuma said, not hiding his feelings.
"No," Shuri sighed, "I hadn't thought of that. I'm sure he has boundless love to give," She tried to soothe, "And it won't change."
"All things change. The sea, most of anything, knows that best," Attuma replied tightly, and then gave a bow, "Have a good rest of the wedding, Queen Shuri."
It was the first time she'd actually heard someone call her that, and she was taken aback by it, just for a second.
Namor found her like this, stunned and rolling over all that Attuma had said.
"Ready to leave?" He asked.
"Are you?" Shuri shrugged.
"The party will be wrapping up soon. Our presence is no longer required."
Shuri thought about what Attuma had said. She wondered if, without her there, Namor would stay all night, laughing with his people, eating, and dancing. She wondered what she was taking away from him.
"No, it's…if you wish to stay longer-,"
"Shuri," Namor cut her off, "Let's go."
Back in her room, Shuri was a ball of tightly strung emotions, impossible to untangle. All she knew is that as she locked her door, she needed Namor. She wanted to feel him again, and pushed him against the door, kissing him hard, grasping his hands and pushing them underneath her dress, up to her hips.
"Namor," She whimpered, "Please."
"Of course," He whispered back, "Whatever my queen demands."
This bothered Shuri, though she couldn't figure out why.
"No…not because I demand, because you also wish," She said, drawing back. Namor brought her hand to his tented pants.
"That is not an issue," He assured.
"How would you…what would you wish…we do?" She asked, needing him to need her as badly as she burned for him.
"I do not think you'd enjoy it," Namor said.
Shuri raised her chin, "Try me, husband," She goaded.
Namor examined her for a few moments before grasping her chin and kissing her deeply. She was thrilled in the way that he grabbed at her clothes, tugging down her dress with urgency, but also care enough not to rip it, though he was not as kind to her tights.
On the bed, with her wrists crossed in his palm, pressed against the headboard, one leg over his shoulder was how their night went.
Twice.
In the aftermath, as Shuri traced the scars she'd made down his back, a rumbling laugh rose in her throat, "I clearly could take that," She teased, wanting Namor to see how silly she was for thinking of her to be some wilting flower, some fragile girl.
He tensed beneath her touch, "Of course," He mumbled, but Shuri knew something wasn't right.
She turned him around.
"What?"
Namor hesitated for a long moment before speaking quietly, "If I had it my way, I stand by my previous statement. It would have been soft, long, and quiet," He said, flingers drawing down her arm.
"But…" Shuri said, confusion clouding her, making it difficult to speak, "But rough is…you and I…it's always rough. You always need it to be hard."
"For you, my wife," He said, "It is what you prefer. And I do too, at times. But…" He gave a quiet laugh, "See, it is not what you needed. That way. I know you far too well."
Shuri stared at him, unable to reply back.
"It is okay," Namor assured, "I enjoy our time either way."
"I don't…I would…you could do it that way," Shuri whispered, but even as she thought about it, the idea of Namor being gentle and almost loving with her made her tense up.
"No, I could not," Namor said, "It has to be this way. I long ago realized that. You must hate me, so it must be…how Americans say it so ineloquently, hatefucking."
"I don't hate you," Shuri tried to say.
"You are at war. And if it has to be with me. I accept that." Namor said, reaching for his shorts, "Rather than with my people, who have done nothing wrong, or worse, with yourself."
Shuri felt a burst of indignation, "Okay, so perhaps I do! But who could blame me?" She snarled, "You killed my mother! Butchered my people! I should hate you!"
"No," Namor replied, so even in his tone, so confident, "That is not it."
"Oh, please, tell me why I hate you then," Shuri sneered, "Because you seem to know so very well."
"I have not figured it out," Namor admitted, "I have been riddling it since the day we married, with no answers. But it seems you have none either." He turned, going to kiss her, but at the last second, his fingers crept up her throat, and though she should push him off, she felt her lower stomach twist and her legs pressed together, despite it all.
"So this is how we must fuck," Namor said, as though this proved his point, "And make no mistakes, it's always enjoyable. But perhaps once you figure it out, we can try something different."
"Leave." Shuri snapped, "Now."
Namor got up, as though fully expecting this. He pet Zizi at the door and left.
Shuri was furious, but even more so when she had to get herself twice more that night, and hated herself for being unable to picture anything but Namor's face to finish herself off.