Chapter Text
To say the British public reacted sensibly to the news of their engagement would be an overstatement.
“I’m never leaving this room.”
“We have to make an appearance sometime,” Tony pleaded, leaning against the bed Steve was currently hiding under.
“No,” Steve said, curling tighter. “Wait, can we go to Balmoral?”
Tony huffed. “I thought you said we had to remain ‘among the people,’ and that ‘one palace was enough for any person.’”
“That was before I was accused of being a ‘Goldigging Yank’ out to destroy the monarchy,” Steve whined.
“They said that before,” Tony reminded him, making him scowl.
“Yes, but before they toned it down because they didn’t want to seem homophobic. Now it's a free-for-all because I don’t have a womb and you’re marrying me.”
“Alright, but we did know this was coming.”
“Stop being logical.”
“Steve, my love, please?”
Steve sighed, staring grumpily at the ugly, no-doubt-antique carpet that he was definitely having replaced when he became consort. Then he rolled out from under the bed.
“Apparently I have ‘bewitched’ you, with what I don’t know.” He scowled at his phone. “What is this, the Middle Ages?”
“Well, that’s not exactly false,” Tony said, pushing himself up. “I do sometimes wonder if you put a spell on me. I’d never fallen for someone so fast.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Steve told him, even as Tony wrapped him in his arms. “Oh my god, this one says I’m a member of the gay mafia sent to infiltrate the Royal family!”
Tony snorted, burying his face in Steve’s hair. “We can get that one framed. That’s gold.”
“It’s just so...tiring. I don’t know why, but I kind of thought that since they’d calmed down over us dating that this wouldn’t be such a problem.”
“Yeah, well, whenever we do anything it’s news. Something this big was always going to cause waves.”
“I know.”
Tony turned his phone so Steve could see it. “If it helps, PinkNews says ‘King Tony to marry Steve Rogers in Royal fairytale’.”
“I guess a little. But they have to love us, they don’t count.”
Tony gave him a squeeze. “Natasha is setting up the engagement photocall. It’ll be tomorrow afternoon. Jan already has something for you: she’s been planning it since I told her I was going to propose.”
Steve felt the familiar warmth of knowing Tony loved him at the mention of the proposal. Anyone who still wanted to stay with him after that freakout clearly loved him.
“Well that’s something at least,” Steve allowed. “Her clothes always fit me properly, and they’re always so comfy.”
“You’re going to look incredible. And I am going to be the lucky chap with a beautiful fiancé on his arm.”
“Ok, I guess I can handle that.”
Tony gave him a peck on the top of his head. “Good.”
“And then can we flee to Balmoral?”
“They want me to what?”
“Sit. For a portrait.”
Steve glared at Natasha. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No! That’s so pretentious. They have photos of me - can’t they just use one of those?”
“They’ll take a photo as well: you just have to sit for the initial session. Don’t be such a baby, your almost-Royal Highness.”
Steve scowled. “Anyway, why are you doing this? I thought I had my own aide now to harass me?”
“And you sent her on holiday because she ‘looked overworked,’” Natasha said, shaking her head. “She’s going to need better stamina than that to manage your attitude about the schedule.”
“She needed the break! She was sick!” Steve complained, trying not to whine.
“She needed a couple of sick days for a sore throat. She did not need a two-week holiday, so I had to pick up her slack,” she told him, giving him the fisheye. “You just thought you’d be free from having someone telling you what to do.”
Ok, so maybe he’d been a little transparent there. “Darcy is new and was working herself to the bone and I did the kind thing. There was no other motive.”
“Mhmm. You realise she’s helping me remotely because she’s well again and knew you were being ridiculous. She took her laptop to her mother’s so she could continue to manage your correspondence once she felt up to it. She’s the one who told me you were needed for the sitting.”
Dammit. Outwitted. “Fine, I’ll sit for the damn thing. But I’m not doing the whole ‘surrounded by grandeur’ thing. It can be outside in the garden.”
He watched as Natasha closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply before she looked back up at him. “Fine.”
Steve smirked, looking out the window of the car. “Remind me again what we’re doing?”
“We’re attending the annual Swan Upping. You did not attend last year because you were visiting your mother. The annual Swan Upping is a five-day event where the Swans swim up the Thames, and a census is taken. A flotilla of skiffs will sit on the River Thames and each swan will be lifted, recorded and returned. This is done by The King’s Swan Marker. As I’m sure you will recall, the King has the prerogative over all swans in England and Wales, and retains the right to claim ownership of any unmarked mute swan swimming in open waters.”
Steve stared at her. “This is a joke, right?“
Natasha smirked. “Nope. Bet you wish you’d just agreed to the portrait. Maybe I would’ve been able to get you out of it.” Her smile turned wicked. “Now you have to stand by the river, in the heat, listening to people shout ‘All up!’ every time they see a group of swans, and pretend to be thrilled because the people love it. And all the while, I’ll be sitting in my favourite tearoom eating an absurd number of scones, because I arranged to have one of the junior aides attend to you during the event.” She relaxed back in her seat. “Poor you.”
Steve’s jaw dropped in outrage. “You’re evil. You are actually evil.”
“How do you think I’ve kept his Majesty in line all these years?”
“Tony is going to be there? This isn’t like, a prank you’re both playing on me?”
“Yes, he will be there. It’s tradition.”
Well, that was something. “Where do we watch the swans?”
“We’re heading to Windsor, and we’ll meet with Tony for you two to board a boat. He left earlier so he could chat with the Swan Marker and make sure everything was ship-shape.”
“Honestly, sometimes I forget our lives are weird, and then we go to something like this,” Steve shook his head. “I could be working instead.”
“If it helps, school kids all come to watch and learn about conservation, so it’s not all bad.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Cheer up, it’s a nice day,” Natasha put on her sunglasses as they turned towards a waiting crowd. “And if you’re lucky, they’ll let you hold a swan.”
“All up!”
Steve tried to keep the smile on his face as they shouted at the arrival of another swan family. On one hand, he admitted this was a weirdly charming event, and meeting all the restless school kids lining up to watch had been cute. On the other hand, it was hot, he was in a suit, and he was watching people catch swans while thinking about how cool the water probably was. Also probably pretty gross, but somehow he didn’t care. He wondered if he could persuade Tony to take a dip in the palace pool when they got home.
Speaking of his fiancé...
He looked over to the other side of the boat to see the King being presented with a cygnet for checking. Steve hid a laugh at the way Tony was nodding enthusiastically at what the Swan Master or whatever his title was, was saying, and Steve had no doubt he’d brushed up on his swan knowledge in the car. Tony must’ve noticed him because his eyes flicked over to Steve, one eyebrow arching dangerously, which did nothing to quell Steve’s amusement. He could tell Tony knew that too, by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Mr Rogers!” A voice boomed, and Steve turned to see a man holding a swan. “Would you like to inspect one of His Majesty’s birds?”
What a question. The swan stared at Steve and Steve stared back. “Uh, very nice. Is it female or male?”
The man went for it, telling Steve far more about any single swan than Steve had ever considered, and he nodded politely, petting the Swan’s head tentatively when invited. He could hear the clicks of the cameras and knew he was going to be getting some mocking messages from Sam and Bucky.
The boat sailed up the river for an hour, in which time Steve made polite conversation with those in attendance and waved to the people who lined the river to watch.
Eventually, they pulled into the dock, meeting another group of excited kids whose teacher handed him a bunch of handmade cards for him and Tony. It was very sweet and brought a genuine smile to his face. They watched as the Swan Man gave a little practiced lecture, Steve gratefully taking a bottle from the palace aid, trying not to actually moan at the coolness of the water.
They were there for a while longer before Steve saw Tony give the palace aide a nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Time to go.
Steve began to walk towards Tony, but before they could take their leave, a stray swan darted out of the reeds with a loud hissing honk and barrelled into his shins. Steve yelped in shock as they collided, stumbling as his shoe slid in the soft mud and he plummeted forward, landing heavily in the muck. For a second, he couldn’t do anything, so aware of just how many cameras were on him at that moment, face down in the dirt, ass in the air.
Maybe he could just stay there, and eventually, everyone else would leave.
“Steve!” So much for that plan. There was a strong grip around his arm, and he was dragged to his feet. Tony was looking at him, his brow furrowed with worry, and his arm looped around Steve’s waist to hold him up. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m--oh Tony you’re getting mud on your suit!”
Tony shrugged. “Who cares?” He brought up his hand to brush Steve’s hair back. “Are you alright?”
“Just feeling really dumb,” Steve murmured. He noticed his assailant had fled, leaving nothing but a few webbed footprints in the mud.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony replied and raised a hand to wave to the crowd who clapped and cheered loudly. “The swans have been counted, so I think that’s lunch.” Steve let himself be led away, remembering to wave even though he knew he looked a mess. They were herded into a car and he leaned back on the headrest and groaned.
“Fuuuuuuck.”
Tony snorted, grabbing a packet of wet wipes out of the back of the seat. He pulled one free before he grabbed Steve’s chin and held him in place, wiping his forehead and cheeks. “Everyone has to have an embarrassing moment once in a while. The usual for Royal spouses is flashing your knickers, but since that’s off the table I guess face-planting is the next best thing.”
“Do I have time to change before our next appointment?”
“You don’t have to. We’re crashing Natasha’s tearooms since she clearly let an inexperienced staff member attend you who wasn’t able to stop you falling.”
Steve side-eyed him. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“Well no, but I do enjoy annoying her, and the scones really are scrumptious, so two birds one stone.” He balled up the used wipes and tossed them in the bin. “She’ll call soon anyway when she sees the news.”
“Oh god.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
Steve’s phone pinged, and with trepidation he opened the notification. “Ugghhhhhhh.”
“What?”
Steve showed him the article. “‘All up - Steve Rogers goes all down!’ That’s-- How did they have that ready so fast? And--” he read through the short write-up. “They said it looks like I did it on purpose to get your attention. I was attacked! Also we’re engaged! How much more of your attention do I need? ‘Steve Rogers clearly felt the swans were getting too much admiration on their big day so took what witnesses said looked like a planned tumble to steal the spotlight and get the King to notice him. King Tony did not disappoint!’.” The photo of Tony holding him was sweet. The photo of him with his ass in the air was not. “Assholes.”
“Jan did a good job with your measurements,” Tony commented, looking at the photo. “Your arse looks fantastic.”
Steve flushed. How did Tony still make him do that? “That’s not funny!”
“Who’s joking?”
Steve flopped over to lie in Tony’s lap, letting Tony pet his hair.
“Is this what it’s going to be like until the wedding?” The petting stopped a moment, Tony’s hand tangled in his hair before resuming gently.
“Not just till the wedding. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “I know.”
When they arrived at the tearooms, Natasha was waiting, for once looking a bit apologetic.
“I really didn’t think the swan-upping would be one of the more difficult engagements,” she said, putting jam on half a scone and pushing it his way.
Steve munched on the scone, giving her a look. “The next one has to be foolproof. No chances of me looking like an idiot.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a miracle worker.”
Before he could open his mouth, his phone pinged as he got a flurry of message notifications.
He sighed, hiding his face in his hands. “I hate our friends.”
