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*****
It was a cold place.
This Land of the Wolves.
Sam had seen snow before, but it was much more like a thin blanket that disappeared by the end of the day, not whatever this was.
Desolate.
A thick vastness of white tundra with dense forest in the far-off distance.
Gothic. That was what Sam was told this architecture was as he was asking about it before being sequestered in a wing of his own as he met his potential candidates in union.
The Gothic style was intriguing, though. He recognized the pointedness of the style; he saw the essence of his own architecture back home in it. He could see the influence of his own city-state and others around him through the trefoil arches, the lofty pinnacles and spires, the intricate and fretted roofs, the ornamental canopies and prominent buttresses, the ramified and giant windows, and the ribbed vaulting.
There was a beautiful sense of drama in what Sam could find familiar in it, even if it was made from cold stone in an icy land filled with pale people.
Sam glanced out at the balcony.
At the world beyond that balcony.
The ring of narrow cobbled streets and homes within the castle walls, pumping smoke from their fires through solid chimneys. The small, snowed-in village past the wall of the castle, almost invisible under the dense layer of snow over their rooves.
The thick forests across a field now blanketed in white.
Sam’s wings twitched.
He could run out. Jump out that window and fly away from this fur-filled room. He could hide in the forest. He could find his way home. Or maybe he could find his own way in the world.
But no.
Sam wasn’t like that.
He had responsibilities. He wasn’t going to shrug his responsibilities. And he loved his brother. So, Sam could do this.
He could marry someone for Gideon’s treaty.
“Beautiful.”
Sam turned his attention to the new voice. A young woman. Pale skin like everyone here. Dressed in a thick, pleated shirt with golden geometric embroidery all over, even the arms that matched the rich blue silk-wrapped skirt and an embroidered vest. She paired it with a silk scarf on her head, a rich blue like her skirt that partially covered her brunette hair. There was a motif in the embroidery, little wolves mixed with geometric patterns. She took Sam in with her big, strikingly ice-blue eyes.
She wasn’t nobility.
Sam could see that.
He could see it in the way she wrapped her hair; in the way the embroidery was hand-sewn not delicately, but with love; like a grandmother had made it by hand. There was some nicety to the outfit, but it felt like some pieces were newly made for the occasion; as if she had either come into some money recently and spent it all on this dress or she had used a huge chunk of savings to make her outfit bare minimum proper for the courts.
Who was this woman?
Sam thought he had finished all his meetings with advisors of potential candidates for marriage. Did he forget one? Sam glanced over to Joaquín, standing awkwardly at the door. Joaquín was in theory Sam’s squire. His guard. His friend.
“She made a good case for having a last-minute meeting with you,” said Joaquín.
“The wings,” the young woman said, a little flustered as she looked from Joaquín’s wings to Sam’s, “I’ve never seen wings on a person before. They’re so elegant.”
Sam’s wings spread, almost on cue. Sam was prideful of them. Burnt umbers and smokey topazes and sandy browns created the feathery mosaic of Sam’s wings. Falcon wings. Like his mother’s and grandfather’s and great-grandmother’s wings, going all the way back to the first Queen of the Salt Marshes of the Falcons.
Joaquín’s were gorgeous as well. His wings resembled more of a Bee-eater – his wings transitioned from an auburn color to a pastel yellow and then a vibrant green. He seemed a little more unprepared for this sudden attention, his wings fluttering, a little flustered himself.
“Is that why you came in?” asked Sam as he quirked an eyebrow.
“That’s, uh, not why I came here,” said the young woman as she shook off the awe before she bent lowly into a curtsey, “I’m here to argue for who you should choose for your upcoming nuptials.”
“For who? You?” asked Sam curiously.
The young woman laughed.
“What? No – I’m not in the competition. No, I’m here to convince you to choose the White Wolf,” said the woman assertively.
Sam blinked.
“The White Wolf?” echoed Sam.
He had heard tales about the man – mostly hearsay, Sam was sure. A dangerous man drenched in blood. An assassin who lost his arm in a devastating war up in the north. There were stories about the man killing a hundred in one night.
Sam had heard rumors that this treacherous assassin had somehow wrangled a title from his work. He even heard that the White Wolf may be one of the handful of people Sam could choose to seal this alliance with. Sam hadn’t thought someone would take the time to sneak into his quarters to pitch the White Wolf as a potential match, though.
“Bucky,” said the young woman, “My brother. I’m Becca, by the way.”
Sam accidentally laughed. Sam even heard Joaquín break character and snort.
Becca nodded instead of getting mad, though.
“Right? Bucky the White Wolf. Isn’t as terrifying when you know his name,” explained Becca.
“Yeah. Bucky really doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’m Sam,” said Sam, feeling the need to introduce himself to Becca.
Becca smirked.
“I know. Samuel Wilson. The beloved Second Falcon Prince of the Winged Isles,” said Becca, “Not a lot of princes are known for being loved by their people, let alone second sons.”
“You want to set me up with your brother because you heard people liked me?” asked Sam.
Becca shrugged.
“That and I got a good feeling about you,” answered Becca honestly, “Look. There’s a world of people out there you’re going to meet, but my brother? My brother’s worth it. He’s a little weird and a lot awkward, but he’s kind and thoughtful. He’s not the safe choice, I know he’s not. But from what I know about you, you don’t usually make the safe choice. The others might come with shiny prizes attached if you choose them on top of the alliance agreement this marriage will offer. I can’t tell you who to choose, but I swear that Sir Bucky Barnes is worth a leap of faith.”
Huh.
“You know, most people dangle those shiny prizes along with people when they try to woo me,” said Sam, a little amused, “They bring in teams of people. They send me offers. They usually come announced.”
Sam gave her a pointed look.
“Yeah, um. We don’t really have that. He’s cavaler, I think it’s – faris – a knight, you know?” said Becca, switching through her language and Sam’s before settling back into the lengua franca, “He only has the power Princep Steve gave us, which isn’t much. But how many people are walking in here basing their arguments on the person alone? How many of these people have come here based on the substance of their person alone?”
“Usually, they don’t need to because they’re also selling me cows or fur or a ‘chateau in the Mountains of Darkness’,” said Sam casually, “But it is intriguing. You’ve got guts coming here with none of that.”
“My brother always fights for me, but never himself,” said Becca, “He deserves someone fighting for him too. If all I can offer for my brother is my support, I’ll still give him that.”
Sam smiled. He understood backing a sibling.
“I’ll think about it,” said Sam, intrigued.
Becca grinned.
“That’s all I ask,” said Becca as she walked toward Sam’s door, “And with that, I’ll just – ”
Sam nodded.
“Yes. Until next time,” said Sam as Becca left the room.
Sam turned his attention to Joaquín.
“She was pretty convincing,” said Joaquín.
Sam sighed.
“It wasn’t the worst meeting I’ve had today,” said Sam, more curious about the infamous White Wolf than ever.
*****
Sam stood out.
He knew he did.
He had rich brown skin like a sard gemstone. A deep red cotton long-sleeved shirt and tie-up trousers that narrow toward the ankles decorated in Bogolan designs depicting the myth of the Redwing; a deep red cotton open-stitched sleeveless gown with golden embroidery signifying Sam’s family falcon motif; layers upon layers of golden bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and anklets studded with rubies. His makeup was inspired by his family’s falcon motif; exaggerated birdwing eyeliner, sparkling silverish-white eyeshadow, and golden lipstick.
It was strange to see the contrast with all the others in the room. An intriguing step into an unknown despite having studied about their people for months.
Long, sturdy woolen cloth coats of black, brown, and cream decorated elaborately with patterns and crests made from bejeweled chenille. They wore felt hats by what had to be the best craftsmen in their city-state with braided bands and feathers of large birds from distant lands. They draped furs like capes over themselves, tied stylishly and loosely over their shoulders. Their jewelry was not so much bedazzled, but harsh, angular, iron pieces that they displayed in a minimalist way.
The wealth of the country stood in stark contrast among their servants and handmaidens. They were overly lavish and extravagant walking art installations in a sea of outfits struggling to make the cut like stars in the night sky. The commonfolk dragged here by their lieges looked more like Becca from earlier; wearing the best clothes they could get their hands on.
Sam seemed to be more willing to spare no expense for his own people. His people were lavish. They wore clothes on par with Sam. Sam had the ability to dress them all well for this event, after all. Why wouldn’t he want his people to look nice too?
Ogling and culture shock wasn’t the point of this banquet, though.
Sam had a mission.
One job.
To choose someone.
Anybody.
To bring someone home to wed and make the alliance between his brother’s country and this one solidified.
“A lot of interesting candidates,” said Rhodey.
Sam’s advisor Rhodey had the wings of a Shining-Blue Kingfisher; deep blue feathers with bronze accents. They flickered thoughtfully behind Rhodey as he surveyed the room.
“Who should I keep in mind?” asked Sam curiously.
Rhodey began to speak as if he was, in his mind, flipping through the piles of papers they had in the guest wing of the castle. He pointed to a blonde man in the most lavish attire out of all the people in the meeting hall.
“Well, there’s the Princep Steve. You can’t marry him because he’s going to be running this country, but he’s a good person to speak with. To get to know.”
Rhodey turned Sam’s attention to a redheaded woman in a crimson dress with black spider embroidery.
“That’s the eldest of the Widow Sisters, Natasha. She and her adopted sister, Yelena, hold a Countess seat in the Waning Woods. Natasha is strong and well-liked by the people she rules. She also has one of the best legions of knights in this country which she calls the Black Widows. She would be a smart choice.”
Rhodey turned Sam toward a brunette in the distance; a man with a goatee dressed in what had to be the most obnoxious suit in the entire room. Sam notices the brunette lock eyes with Rhodey and wink before smirking and wandering over to a selection of meats. Sam knew when Rhodey was trying not to react to something.
Sam tried to hide a smile at that.
“Over there’s Duke Anthony. Tony. He’s known as the Iron Man for the rich iron mines in his duchy. He would be a smart choice for, you know. The iron mines.”
“That’s not all you want to mine from him,” said Sam as his eyes waggled, “Don’t set me up with someone you were looking at, Rhodey.”
Rhodey, for the first time Sam had known him, looked flustered. Absolutely caught off guard at Sam catching onto something so quickly about Rhodey.
“Okay. Maybe I’ll talk to him,” mumbled Rhodey as he angled Sam to a blonde woman in the classiest dress of them all, “That over there is Baroness Sharon. Supposedly, she is the spymaster here. Her skills and people would be pretty invaluable. Those would be my top three, at least. Though, I did hear from a little birdie that you might have gotten an interesting suggestion while I was away.”
Sam laughed.
He had been thinking about that proposal since Becca argued for her brother.
“I do have to admit, it was intriguing. I might find the White Wolf if he’s around just to say I met him,” said Sam.
And with that, Sam stepped out into the banquet.
It flew by in a blur. Drink after drink, Sam pretended to be drunk as he watched the other nobles becoming completely sloshed. New food after new food brought Sam exciting, novel flavors. Dance after dance felt more like chores than fun. Chat after chat devolved into people gawking at Sam’s wings than people actually getting to know Sam. Sam didn’t even know what he was saying, what they were saying. It was all straightened backs and slapped-on smiles and intricate games of chess with words.
Sam knew that was what this banquet was about. It was strategy and seeing who might help Gideon the best as Gideon ascended to the throne. Sam was finding this all to be dizzying, though.
Sam wasn’t even sure when he escaped to the chilly balcony. How he got there. He found himself looking out again to those distant woods and wondering what it would be like just to leave.
Fly off over the woods.
How long had Sam been standing out on this balcony?
Sam turned around, about to walk back inside, but Sam faltered as a man stepped out onto the balcony too.
Blue.
Icy-blue eyes, almost gray.
His brunette hair was kept out of his eyes with a braid. He had scruff on his face as if he hadn’t had the time to shave before this party.
He wore a thick winter coat made from white fur and decorated with a wolf motif. One sleeve hung empty on his left side – a missing arm. Under the coat was a dark blue leather vest with wolf embroidery, a white linen shirt cinched by a thick leather waistband strapped on with two buckles and affixed with pouches. It was matched with tan wool pants met by tall black leather boots. He wore sapphires in his ears, simple studs.
This man stared at Sam, a little agape.
“Midsummer Nightingale Daylilies,” whispered the man like utter gibberish.
Sam laughed.
“What?” asked Sam, sure it was about his wings.
Everything seemed to be about his wings when it came to these people. Sam understood they didn’t have many people with wings in this land, but it was starting to feel weird. Objectifying.
“Sorry, just your eyes are like Silken Trim Irises,” breathed the man.
Even in the rigidly cold of the freezing night, Sam felt his face heat up at that. At how this man was so abashedly entranced with Sam’s eyes. Sam couldn’t stop his wings from fluttering behind him.
“Oh, um. Thank you,” Sam said, uncharacteristically frazzled by the way his heart skipped a beat at the smile on the man’s face.
“…And I’m being too much,” said the man, growing redder by the second, “Too much. Halt that horse, Bucky. Excuse me as I sit in that corner hoping that I become invisible and blend into the balcony.”
He wandered over to the corner and actually sat down.
This was the White Wolf?
The supposed most well-trained assassin in this land?
What.
A.
Strange.
Man.
Sam wandered over and sat next to him.
“Don’t like these events either?” asked Sam sympathetically.
Bucky strangled a laugh.
“This is my first time at one,” said Bucky as turned Sam’s direction, “It’s been… an experience.”
“I can tell you, from a lifetime of experience, that more of them doesn’t exactly make them any better,” said Sam, a little haunted, “I fall into a trance and go through the motions. It’s stressful.”
“Great. That’s an amazing discovery to learn. These never get better,” groaned Bucky before he turned his intense eyes at Sam and added, “So, that’s what brought you to the balcony? I’m sorry this place is stressing you out too. Is your prince okay with you out here? Wait. I didn’t mean to say that like he wouldn’t be. I’ve only heard good things about him.”
Oh.
Oh ho, Bucky didn’t know who Sam was.
Sam smiled, resting his head in his hand as he asked, “What have you heard about the prince?”
“Well, um. I heard that he’s sweet. He cares about his people and treats them like actual people,” said Bucky, fiddling with his coat, “Joaquín said that when his grandma was sick, Sam personally made sure that she was given the best medical treatment on that side of the Salt Marshes of the Falcons.”
“I did hear about that,” hummed Sam.
“And he listens to his people too,” said Bucky excitedly, “Rhodey talked to me about how Sam did everything in his power to make his parents listen to Rhodey about the need for creating social safety nets for your people, which is – I can’t imagine that. I can’t see that ever happening here before Stevie is placed on the throne. And how Sam made it his mission to make sure to protect his people, pushing his parents to start reform, then gaining more traction with his brother? That’s amazing. Whoever Sam chooses is going to be so lucky.”
Sam had done a lot.
He was pretty prolific for a second son.
But he wasn’t sure if he expected anyone here to talk about his work to help his people, the thing he was truly most proud of. And Bucky? He seemed over the moon about it, gushing about the way Sam did his best to better the lives of his land.
Cute.
And weird.
And caring.
“You care about the people, then?” asked Sam.
“Of course I do. The people are the country. Not everyone at this banquet understands that, but it’s true,” said Bucky, passionate and as if he was used to speaking out about this, “If they don’t understand that, it’ll be their own downfall. Not just because of their inability to empathize, but their inability to run a country well.”
“What if he chose you?” asked Sam curiously, “You’re here because you’re putting your hat in the ring, right?”
“Me?” asked Bucky, as if he hadn’t realized he was an option, “Oh, I can’t offer a thing to him. I barely count as someone in the running as a knight. I’m not even of royal blood. I was decreed by Stevie as a knight – the, uh, princep. What could I offer a prince?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam, amused, “I feel like someone could sell you.”
Bucky groaned.
“Oh gods above, Becca really did it, didn’t she?” moaned Bucky into his hand, “She can be a lot. I hope she didn’t bother the prince. Especially with the rumors surrounding me, I’d rather not pull a prince down into my mess just by vague association.”
Sam frowned.
“Are your rumors that ruinous?” asked Sam.
Bucky shrank into himself, which wasn’t easy to do considering how tall and broad he was. But it seemed to come a little too naturally to him. A honed skill. One taught over an entire lifetime. One that was now instinct.
Sam didn’t like that.
“I was forced to do a lot of things. Back when I was younger. I’m not proud of a lot of the things I did because I felt like I had to,” mumbled Bucky, “Not all of it is rumor. I’ve got blood on my hands. But I’m not that person anymore. I was given a chance to leave that life, to live in a way I wanted to, and I’ll be forever grateful to Stevie – uh, the princep for that.”
“You’re close to him, huh?” asked Sam, feeling oddly uncomfortable, even bristly as he asked, “The princep?”
Bucky saw something in Sam. Sam didn’t know what Bucky saw, but it made Bucky smirk.
“Nothing scandalous. Stevie and I are pals. I taught him how to fight. Before I was sent for very different training, I was his bodyguard. We were friends. We are now,” explained Bucky proudly, “I’d lay my life down for him and that idiot would do the same for me. He almost did when he saved me from my life as the White Wolf. He’s like a brother to me and Becca, if you can believe someone as low as me can have such a bond with someone so high in station as a princep.”
Sam relaxed.
Why was he relaxing about that?
He found himself telling Bucky, “Where I’m from, stations aren’t as concrete. They’re more fluid. Joaquín’s the grandson of a florist. Rhodey’s parents were farmers before he became a royal advisor.”
Bucky’s smile deepened at that.
“I had a good feeling about that prince coming to town. The way everyone looks like an equal in his entourage really stood out too,” said Bucky, “To work with someone so open to that. Stevie is, but it’s not a popular opinion in these parts. You’re really lucky.”
Sam could hear that there was more to that story. Sadder, darker things.
But Sam wouldn’t push. He felt like he had all the time in the world for Bucky to tell him, if Bucky wanted to. And wasn’t that the most weirdly freeing thing to feel? To meet someone and just know someday, you would know all that they could give you?
“Steve really gave you a chance?” asked Sam.
Bucky shrugged.
“He gave me an opportunity to do good without getting my hands bloody and took the opportunity. Never looked back,” said Bucky, “But a lot of terrible rumors are mixed in with terrible truths, and no one deserves that anchor around their neck. Let alone one of the best princes I’ve ever heard about. I’m not the man I once was. I strive to be better and atone for the sins I’ve committed. But all this country will ever see is the bloodied wolf they created all those years ago.”
Bucky looked into the distance, and Sam felt that. He understood the feeling of just wanting to leave forever.
Sam’s hand had a mind of its own, reaching out for Bucky’s hand.
“Please apologize to the prince for me. I hope Becca didn’t bother him too much,” said Bucky as his fingers intertwined with Sam in an easy way that just clicked.
“I liked her,” said Sam, “Weird, but she made me think.”
“And. You’re. Sam Wilson,” whispered Bucky as his face turned crimson once more, “I’ve been acting like a complete loon in front of the prince.”
Sam held Bucky’s hand where it was.
“You never answered my question,” said Sam, staring straight into Bucky’s eyes, “Would you say yes if I chose you?”
“How could anyone say no to you?” asked Bucky in a daze.
Sam grinned.
Sam shouldn’t choose Bucky.
He didn’t gain anything from it.
But he couldn’t stop himself as he asked, “Would you like to come with me back home? Could I have your hand?”
“You can have anything you want!” blurted Bucky as Sam laughed.
Sam knew he chose right as he stood up and dragged an in awe Bucky by the hand back into the banquet hall to make his announcement.