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In Natasha’s opinion, King Anthony Stark was far too soft. She should know; she’d been serving kings and queens since she could hold a knife. Her hands were stained with blood spilled on their orders, but since Tony had taken the throne from his late father, they’d stayed clean. That softness was the kind of thing that ended with a knife in the back of whatever king was fool enough to be kind.
Never once had he sent her to dispose of a pesky lord, or called upon her services to put down a rebellion. She didn’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was the crown’s assassin, and he wasn’t using her as she should have been used. She was a weapon in his hand that he refused to wield. But on the other, she had to admit that it was nice, sometimes, to pretend that she could bring anything instead of death to her country and her people.
She still thought Tony was far too soft, but she was trying to unlearn some of her more ruthless tendencies. The best way to deal with peasant complaints was possibly not murdering one to make an example, but she still believed that one stab would deal with the idiots on Tony’s council. It didn’t even have to be fatal!
“We aren’t stabbing anyone, not even Hammer,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose when she suggested as much after his unproductive meeting. His crown was askew across his forehead and the circles under his eyes were darker than she’d realized.
Her king was a mess, and it caused something in her chest to clench in sympathy. Since he’d taken power from his militant father, he’d been fighting an uphill battle trying to end the wars the man had started and create an era of peace. Just recently, he’d dealt with an attempted coup at the hands of one of his closest advisors, Obadiah Stane. On a completely unrelated note, she had to report that he’d had an… unfortunate accident in prison after Natasha had gone to check that he was secure.
She wanted to help him, but she had no idea what to do. She was a weapon, meant to do his dirty work and make his life easier, and he wasn’t letting her do her damn job. How the hell was she supposed to help, then?
“Fine, Your Majesty,” she said, stiffly formal to show that she was irritated.
Tony leveled her with a look. “You cannot seriously be mad at me because I won’t condone a murder,” he said.
“A stabbing,” she corrected waspishly. “I’d leave him alive.”
“Can you not see why I wouldn’t want that?” Tony put his head in his hands. “If he’s not dead, he’ll be angry, which means he’ll be even worse and it’ll be harder to get him off my damn council.”
“So I’ll kill him,” Natasha shrugged. “Problem solved.”
“Then I deal with a rebellion from all of his supporters,” Tony countered. When he looked at her, his eyes looked like they’d aged a hundred years since he’d taken the throne. There were lines on his face that she didn’t recognize, carved deep from frowns rather than smiles.
She still remembered him as the crown prince, young and idealistic and promising her a life free to do whatever she wanted. He’d bowed to her like she was a princess, rather than the girl who slit the throats of rebellious boys like him. They’d both been young then, too young for the burdens on their shoulders. Had it only been three years since then? Since she believed him and his promises and stood with him when he rose against his father?
He’d kept every promise. He’d offered her her freedom, and she’d chosen to stay at his side. She’d never regretted it, and she wasn’t about to start now that he wouldn’t let her stab his problems into submission.
“What can I do, then? What do you need?” she asked, deflating a little. Truly, she didn’t want to kill anyone. It always left a bitter taste in her mouth. She just didn’t know what sweetness could taste like.
Tony smiled at her. It was a small thing, barely even there, but it was enough for her to know that even under all the exhaustion that came with being king, her bold, foolhardy prince was still there. “Just stay?” he asked softly. “No more field trips to prisons, no more sneaking out to threaten my councilmembers. Just stay with me, Natasha. I don’t need anything but you at my side.”
Damn, she thought she’d gotten away with her little prison escapade. Natasha stayed silent as she processed what Tony was asking for. He wanted her , without the bells and whistles in the form of her various deadly weapons. He’d told her, years ago, that he wanted her as an equal. Now, he was asking if that was what she wanted, too. If she wanted to stay with him in the throne room rather than protect him from the shadows.
“You’re tired,” Natasha said, just as quietly. “Let’s go to bed, Tony. We can deal with your council in the morning. I have some non-violent ideas, I promise.”
It wasn’t an answer, but at the same time, it was . It was as much of one as she could give him: a promise that she’d be at his side, at least for another day. She wanted to accept his proposal, she really, really did, but Natasha didn’t know who she was without a knife in her hand. Tony could be her tether, she knew, but she didn’t want him to be. She wanted to stand at his side on her own two feet. One day, she’d swear to stay with him forever, but she wasn’t ready for that yet.
Tony’s tired eyes glimmered with hope. He heard everything she wasn’t saying, she knew, and she loved him for it a little bit. “Let’s,” he agreed, standing and offering her his arm.
Natasha took it. Maybe being soft wasn’t such a terrible thing, after all.