#hawkwidow

She’s been dying for entertainment in the castle lately; she grew bored over the last several weeks, hardly being entertained by the numerous parliaments and counsels she’d been hosting. She’d been wishing for entertainment, yet nothing seemed to pique her interest. It had been nearing the summer months, which meant festivities and enjoyment for the townsfolk. But she was a royal; it was forbidden for her to abandon her duties and join in with the civilians.

She raised a brow as a man wearing an obnoxiously clashing outfit leapt into the room, a wide grin spread on his cheeks.

“Greetings, your Royal Highness.” Grinning like a cheshire, he spun around and kicked his heels into the air, all while laughter sprouting from his lips. “I’ve come to entertain you, m’lady.”

“Well, get on with it, then.” She let slip a smile as her Royal Guard looked alarmed at the sudden burst of enjoyment from this random entertainer.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed once more before he pulled out two ribbons and begun twirling them around his body.

Severa moments go by, and Natasha found herself grinning from ear to ear as she watched this strange man twirling and dancing, leaping into the air. SHe had been thoroughly entertained by him and wished him to remain in her Throne Room forever.

“Stop.” She ordered lightly as she stood from her chair, alarming her guards as they stood on either side of her. “Come, jester.” She beckoned towards him and breathlessly, he strolled over to her.

“Have I not entertained you, my Queen?” He asked, smile on his face, though Natasha noticed a flicker of worry in his pink cheeks.

“Quite the contrary, jester.” She smirked small, a minute quirk of her lip. “I enjoyed your performance; but I must say, you’re working up quite a sweat; shall I prepare an early dinner for you?”

“Your Highness,” he laughed, chest heaving as he tried to quell his breathing. “Nothing would make me happier tonight.”

“Do you have accommodations to wear tonight?” She asked.

He nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What is your name?”

“Clint, Your Highness; Clint Barton.”

“Well, Clint,” She nodded. “What do you say I give you an escort back home so you can ready yourself for this dinner with me?”

“I would enjoy that very much, QUeen Natasha.”

“Rogers, Barnes,” she turned her head to the men that guarded her seat. “Take this man to his home and bring him back within the hour. Yes?”