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Tony leads his new husband to the suite of rooms that has been prepared for them. He wishes he could follow, instead; the back of his neck is prickling like crazy, and the words of the negotiators who hammered out the marriage contract are echoing in his ears: The negotiations were too easy. They hardly asked for anything. They must want something else. Be wary of your new husband.
Tradition forbids armed guards on the marriage night. It will be only the third time in Tony’s life that he’s been outside the reach of his guards. It’s the perfect opportunity for Stephen Strange to murder him, if that’s what Kamar-Taj wants.
But when the suite doors close behind Strange, all he does is pull off the elaborate headdress his traditions call for and drop it and the heavy marriage robe on the floor, leaving him in a much lighter, royal blue tunic. “Thank the Vishanti,” he groans, taking a seat on one of the low settees in the suite’s receiving room. “Whoever made those so heavy when they have to be worn from dawn until dusk is a cruel man.”
Tony is left dumbstruck for the first time he can remember. Strange looks up at him and takes on a sheepish expression. “I apologize, I know no one has explained anything to you. The Elders couldn’t decide whether or not it was permitted prior to the marriage, and ultimately they decided to err on the conservative side. But I can explain now.” He gestures to the other settee, placed perpendicular to the one he’d claimed.
After a moment, Tony shrugs out of his own marriage robe and sits. “The negotiators did suspect something else was going on,” he says. “I take it they were right.”
“Yes, but nothing political.”
“I’m a prince and you’re The Ancient One’s prize protege,” Tony says dryly. “It’s political by definition.”
Strange snorts a little. “For you, maybe. Not for Kamar-Taj. We didn’t need any of the things we asked for in the negotiation. It just seemed like the done thing.”
Tony frowns. “Then what did you want?”
Strange looks slightly… embarrassed? “When a Sorcerer of Kamar-Taj attains the rank of Master, a spell is performed. It reveals their most ideal romantic partner. You’re mine.”
“Your most ideal romantic partner,” Tony repeats, staring. Strange nods. “This is… a love match?”
“Well, not yet,” Strange says, blushing slightly. “But unless something goes very wrong—and it can, this isn’t a guarantee—it will be.”
Tony can’t help it: he laughs so hard actual tears start leaking out of his eyes. Every time he thinks he’s going to stop, he looks up at Stephen’s bemused expression and starts laughing again. Eventually, he sucks in enough breath to gasp out, “They thought— They warned me you might— might try to kill me.”
After one gobsmacked moment, that sets Stephen laughing, too.
Not a bad way to start a marriage.