AN: Prompt fill for tumblr user feathertailsilverstripe. Cross-posted to my tumblr and a03 (username emubop in both places, same title). Entirely AU, no spoilers at all.

Prompt: "Sort of a medieval AU. One is a Prince and another is a high-up dude trying to win his favour during the customary coming-of-age dance. I suppose it's a bit like Cinderella, too, just without the running off. I'm waffling. I'll go now. Bye. x"

Clint's plan is foolproof. Go to the masquerade, sweep the prince off his feet, reveal who he is at the end of the night, and live happily ever after. Everything's in order: a new suit perfectly tailored, his carriage shined and horses brushed, an ornate mask that both covers his features and attracts attention, and a dozen white roses to match his prince's hair. There is no possible way this can go wrong.

Then he enters the ballroom an hour late, sees the sheer amount of people, and doesn't know how he's even going to get close enough to say hello.

Being late wasn't part of the plan. He'd actually intended on being early, to introduce himself as soon as possible, but his carriage had gotten stuck in a muddy side road, courtesy of the recent spring rains. By the time they got everything moving again, the ball had already started. And now his entrance is barely noticed; he's just another drop in a sea of guests.

Clint hadn't even realized that so many nobles had been invited, but in retrospect, it makes sense. After all, the royal family of Sokovia is trying to find the "perfect match" for their children during their coming-of-age ceremony, and the more options they have, the more likely they are to find what they're looking for. There's some people here that Clint knows despite their masks; Lady Natasha of Russia is gorgeous as usual, wrapped in a white fox stole and leaning against the wall, watching people pass her by with a cool elegance. And Clint definitely sees Prince Thor of Asgard, laughing loudly across the room and making sweeping gestures. But for as many people as he recognizes, there's ten more that he doesn't, with national emblems and family crests that he's never seen before buttoned to their coats.

There's so many people that it takes him a minute to even locate Prince Pietro, at the far end of the room with his twin, Princess Wanda. Wanda has already decided on a suitor, apparently: he's on her arm, gold cape glinting off the light from the chandeliers. They look happy, smiling at each other and greeting the long line of people come to congratulate them.

The Prince is far less pleased with his suitors. He looks like he's barely holding back boredom as each person "treats" him to a short dance before relinquishing hold to the next.

And Clint would know that bored face anywhere. He's worked as a castle guard ever since he was a teen, when the circus he was traveling with stopped in Sokovia and he decided to stay. His sharp eyesight, great coordination, and immense skill with the bow overcame language barriers, and helped him make a quick rise to captain of the guard. He was even given an estate for his efforts, just down the road; the only reason he even had to travel by carriage to get to the palace was because he was training some fresh recruits out at the border guard.

In any case, his position allows him to see a lot of the Prince. He's even trained the Prince, although the kid never wants to sit still for his lessons. Clint has had plenty of time to get to know who Prince Pietro really is, and fall completely head over heels for him.

But one doesn't say those things to the prince of the land when one is on the job. So he has to act now, or he doesn't know when he'll next get the chance.

He pushes off from his position against the wall and starts making his way across the floor, towards the line to take his place. It really is long; he's not sure when the Prince will get to him, but it'll be a while. That's fine. Clint's a patient man. He settles in to wait, finding various people to track across the ballroom to keep from boredom. Natasha is flirting with a very flustered-looking duke. A blonde man dressed in blue is arguing with a man who looks like the Italian Stark prince. Clint's men, standing position at the doors, are taking turns drifting off when they think no one's looking. (He'll have to speak to them when he gets back to work.) Prince Pietro is -

Wait.

Where's Prince Pietro?

Clint has a moment of utter panic, and is about to yell out for his guards and completely blow his cover before he sees Princess Wanda speaking with one of her brother's suitors, looking like she's trying not to smile. He knows that look; he's been on the receiving end many times, when she's trying to cover up for a prank that she and her brother have pulled. The kid is probably fine, probably just slipped away to grab a glass of wine or three. Clint certainly would understand that, he doesn't envy the job of dancing with stiff and boring strangers. It must be frustrating, especially for a man with as little patience as Pietro.

Still, he can't help but scan the room, searching for signature white waves of hair. And he can't help but be annoyed when his search is interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

"Care to dance?" the person asks, voice low. Clint doesn't recognize him. His deep blue mask covers almost his whole face, leaving only the mouth free. And Clint can't get a good look at that, because he's wearing a short cloak with the hood pulled over his head, casting shadows over his face.

"Sorry, I'm waiting for the Prince," Clint says.

"I insist," the stranger replies, and grabs Clint's hand with white gloves that match the cloak and a perfectly tailored suit. "Just one dance. It will be quick, I promise."

Clint glances at the line, which is quickly dissipating as people realize that the prince isn't there. Well, he supposes it couldn't hurt. "Just one dance," he says, placing the bouquet of white roses atop a pile of other coming-of-age gifts.

The stranger smiles and bows, leading Clint out from the edge towards the middle of the ballroom, before they fall into step. He insists on leading, and it's just one dance, so Clint allows it.

Only, as the music sways to the rooftop, the stranger moves Clint through the motions with expert hands, nudging him here or pulling him there but always gentle, and it feels like they're flying. It's the best dancing that Clint's ever experienced. And he's now more than a little intrigued by this man.

It comes to an end too soon, with a last quiver of violins, and the stranger gently pulls away, bowing and turning to leave. "Wait," Clint says, before he can stop himself. "One more?"

The stranger smiles. "I would be honored," he says.

This isn't the plan. This is nowhere near the plan. Dancing with a mysterious and beautiful and talented stranger was never the plan. But this is too good to pull himself away from. It's even better as they start talking.

"I don't notice any national emblems on your coat," Clint says, as they glide through a waltz. "Where are you from?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," the stranger says, and his smile seems almost cheeky. "But it's not far."

"Within the country?" Clint knows that's wrong as soon as it's out of his mouth; he'd recognize any nobility from Sokovia. "No, I don't think so."

"What about you?" The stranger turns them around in a smooth motion. "Where are you from?"

"Someplace far away," Clint says. It's not a lie. "But I live in Sokovia now."

"I must say, your Sokovian is very fluent for a foreigner," the stranger compliments.

Clint smiles. "I've had practice."

"Evidently."

"I suppose it would be against the rules to ask your name?" Clint asks. He can't help himself; this man piques his curiosity, makes him want to know more.

The stranger laughs. "Perhaps I'll tell you at the end of the night," he says.

Every so often, Clint will throw a glance around the room, trying to see if he can find the Prince. But each attempt is more halfhearted than the last. This man, whoever he is, is witty, charming, handsome, and Clint doesn't have to share him with a veritable army of suitors. If he can't find Prince Pietro, well... It's no longer the end of the world.

So he lets himself get caught up in the moment and swept off his feet by the handsome stranger. They dance and eat and drink their way through the night, and Clint doesn't want it to end.

But eventually the crowds start trickling out, wrapped in coats or other people, and the band starts packing up, and Wanda has disappeared with her suitor. It's time to bring it to a close. "I should go," Clint says. "My carriage will be waiting."

"Walk with me first?" the stranger asks. "It will be quick, I promise."

"You said the same thing about only one dance," Clint reminds him, but follows anyways as they walk out a side door into the gardens.

The gardens of the Sokovian palace are beautiful, although Clint can't see them as well in the darkness. But he knows that the blossoms hanging over the path are in full bloom, the hedges well-trimmed, and rare flowers sit in orderly rows. The moonlight casts a pale glow over everything, shining off of dewdrops and puddles so they glimmer silver, and the gardens are beautiful in a more mysterious way. It feels like anything could happen under the pale dappled light. Up to and including the stranger gently stopping them, looking at Clint, and slowly leaning in.

There's more than enough time for Clint to back away, make any disinterest clear. But he doesn't. He lets the night and the stranger carry him away, and leans forward as well, their mouths meeting for a kiss that's soft and sweet and tastes of wine. Clint's hands find and settle on the stranger's waist, holding him close, and he feels a gentle hand run through his hair. It's chaste, but utterly magical, and when they pull away, Clint's breathing more heavily than he'd admit. They stay touching each other, hands resting where they are; Clint doesn't think he can let go.

"I don't even know your name," he quips.

The stranger laughs at this, draping his arms around Clint's shoulders. "But you do," he says.

Clint's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Pretty sure I don't."

"You just don't know that you do."

The stranger starts to pull away, and Clint reluctantly allows it. He doesn't move far, though, just far enough to take off the cloak that's been covering his head all night. Moonlight shines off white, wavy, locks, and before Clint can even react, he takes off the mask, too.

"You didn't see that coming, Barton?" Prince Pietro asks, voice back to its usual pitch and a smirk on his face. Clint could punch him, if he didn't want to kiss him so damn badly.

"You little brat," he says, and is laughing as he grabs Pietro's hands and pulls him closer. "You little - how did you know it was me?"

"The hawk on your crest made it obvious." Pietro taps lightly at the metallic crest pinned to Clint's jacket. "And I knew who I was looking for. I knew who I wanted to choose before you even arrived, it was just a matter of finding you and escaping everyone else."

Pietro leans in to capture Clint's lips again, and this time it's intense, mouth moving like he's been waiting for this and can't hold back anymore. Clint pushes back, just as eager. It's euphoric, this release, both of them getting what they want and reveling in it, hands grabbing and pulling each other as close as possible. He can't get enough.

Unfortunately, though, they need to breathe, and eventually have to stop kissing to take in gulps of air. "You know, I was supposed to be the one sweeping you off your feet," Clint manages. "Not the other way around."

"You don't seem to mind," Pietro says.

"No," Clint replies, and presses a quick kiss against Pietro's mouth. "I don't mind at all."

Their engagement is announced the next day. And although nothing went according to plan, it's more perfect than Clint could have imagined.

AN: Fun fact - the title for this on my computer is "Clinterella." Another fun fact - pretty much only listened to Taylor Swift while writing this.

I really love writing AUs. Like, so much. I'm probably going to post more this summer. Thanks for reading, hope you have an awesome day!