Chapter Text
“A bodyguard?”
You stood in front of your parents, a look of agitated fury on your face. There were onlookers since a few members of the royal guard stood lining the beautifully decorated throne room of the Summer Palace.
Atalan was a thriving island country off of the coast of France and Spain. A little bigger than the size of Ireland, Atalan had a rich culture with its own language. While bordering Europe, the culture was far from most of the rest of Europe. The Atalanian people proudly maintained a royal family for over a millennium.
You were the heir of that long lineage.
Your mother sat directly in front of you on the century-old gold-accented oak throne. She wore a vibrant blue two piece outfit, the top revealing by European standards and the skirt only trailing down to just below her knees, with gold trimming and gold jewelry complementing the outfit. The famous crown of the Atalanian royal family sat atop her head, the gold sparkling with the sun streaming in through the glass windows that lined the room. It was reminiscent of the sun, something very important in Atalanian culture.
“Don’t give me the attitude, y/n,” she warned, her posture straight as a board, which usually meant she was in a no-nonsense mood. The queen sat with one leg over the other, her presence radiating regality. “I will not negotiate your safety with you.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I have a perfectly good guard already. What’s wrong with Carlos?”
“Nothing is wrong with Carlos. He has served you just fine until now.” Your mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. The sun that had streamed through the window just moments before had all but gone away, clouds appearing out of nowhere. “But with France continuing to overstep its boundaries on our seas, I want to be sure I can protect you.”
“I can protect myself, you know,” you huffed before snapping your fingers lazily. As if on cue, a small storm cloud grew over the coffered ceiling, darkening the room more than the clouds on the outside had. A small bolt of lightning struck near one guard stationed on the edge of the room nearest to you, making the six-foot-three man flinch, even if unexpected lightning came with the job.
That seemed to be your mother’s breaking point.
“Y/n!” she shouted, and a bolt of lightning struck nearby. The clouds must have gotten dark enough to be classified as thunderclouds. Oh, your mother was definitely pissed off now. “You are twenty-five years old; act your age.”
Because you got the reaction you wanted, you smirked slyly before reluctantly giving in to make the cloud shrink in size until it became virtually non-existent. It was fun to watch your mother turn red in the face sometimes.
“Valerie.” A gruff voice spoke next to her. Good, your father was intervening before she decided to cause a hurricane. He usually had to be present if you and your mother were having a serious conversation, because it usually went down just like it was now. “You’re making a storm.”
Your mother’s head snapped over to glare at your father, but she visibly started calming down, her body no longer a coiled spring like it was thirty seconds ago. With every deep breath she took in, the sky started clearing up more and more. “Thank you, Luca.”
Your father was the head general of the military, and with that title, he stood right beside your mother’s throne wearing his all-black military uniform. He was also the only person in the world who could reliably calm down your mother. As part of the Atalanian royal family, your mother could do magic. Every girl born in the family line for centuries could control the weather.
Emotions played a factor in the conditions outside, but your mother could mostly control her powers. You were almost as disciplined as she was, but still when you got mad, thunderstorms were inevitable.
Once your mother had calmed down enough to where the skies were just partly cloudy, she turned her attention back to you. “I’m not debating this with you, little bird,” she told you firmly, even as she used her nickname for you.
You opened your mouth to retort, but after seeing the fierce glare she gave you, you shut your mouth. It was the queenly glare that she gave other heads of state when they looked down on her just for being a woman.
Your mother then stood up and walked down the few steps that separated her throne from the rest of the throne room. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor; her stride graceful.
You remained irritated, but you knew when not to cross the line with her. You wore similar clothes to hers, except yours were mostly black. The top exposed your shoulders and only covered as much skin as necessary. The bottoms started at your hips with the skirt ending around your mid-thighs. Everything was gold-trimmed, and you wore a smaller crown than your mother, which held fewer details and fewer jewels.
Once your mother had reached you, you had to look up at her. You were short by Atalanian standards, especially since your mother was almost six feet tall, even without heels.
She guided you over to the almost floor-to-ceiling window behind her throne, which gave a wonderful view of the capital of Atalan, Sapphia. Individual people were unremarkable on the hill the palace was situated, but if you looked close enough, you could see cars and individual buildings.
“Y/n, you are my heir,” your mother said softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Your brother cannot inherit the throne since he is a man, and your sister is only thirteen. I cannot lose you. And neither can Atalan. Even lightning won’t protect you from what I fear is coming soon.”
She gently gripped your chin to make you turn your gaze to her. “Please just do this? For my sanity.”
Looking into her eyes, you could see your fearsome mother, who protected her people passionately, but more noticeably, you could see the fear that she did not show often. A maternal love you did not know the extent of.
You sighed loudly before crossing your arms. “Fine,” you pouted, even though you leaned in closer to your mother.
Your mother smiled widely. “Good. I hired someone who’s the best of the best at their job.” She told you proudly as she started making her way out of the throne room, you beside her and your father trailing behind the two of you. You could just hear his smile, even if he was out of your line of vision.
The way she was smiling, though, made you suspicious. Why was she so excited about hiring a bodyguard who apparently was not from the royal guard or Atalanian military? “Who did you hire, Mom?”
She just laughed at your expression as she walked through the tall double doors of the throne room. “Don’t look at me like that, little bird. You should be impressed, really. I got you an Avenger.”
Your eyes widened. An Avenger? You knew she had pull with Atalan controlling over 80% of the world’s gold supply, but hiring an Avenger just to be a bodyguard? You were impressed.
“Who?” you repeated with impatience. You were curious about who she could have possibly hired to be inconspicuous. You should have known who she would say if you were really thinking about it.
“Natasha Romanoff.”