The Blonde Prince Of Wakanda (CH 1) (Patreon)

A/N: This story is rated M for mature content not suitable for children.

Naruto - M'Naru

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Chapter 1: The Golden Outcast

Africa - Wakanda

The heat in the lower crucibles of the Great Mound was enough to wilt a normal man, but M’Naru barely noticed. He was used to the friction. He was used to the way the air shimmered with the energy of the world’s most precious metal.

He stood over a specialized workbench that he had built himself, away from the prying eyes of the Wakandan Design Group. In his hands, he held a delicate lattice of vibranium wiring, weaving it into a pair of sleek, charcoal-colored gauntlets. These weren't the standard-issue weapons of the Border Tribe or the elegant tech Shuri played with in her sun-drenched laboratory upstairs. These were heavy, brutal, and designed to break things that were supposed to be unbreakable.

M’Naru wiped sweat from his brow, his fingers leaving streaks of grease against his sun-kissed skin. He caught his reflection in the polished metal of a nearby cooling tank. The sight was a constant reminder of why he was kept in the shadows. His hair was a bright, unruly blonde that no amount of Wakandan tradition could tame. His eyes were a piercing blue, reflecting the heritage of a mother he had never known and a father who had been branded a tragedy.

To the world, he was M’Naru, a prince of Wakanda. But to those who whispered in the halls of the palace, he was the Bastard Prince, the "Yellow-Haired mistake" of the royal line.

"I hope you are not planning to cause an explosion again, M’Naru," a voice said, pulling him from his thoughts.

He didn't need to look up to know it was Ayo. She was one of the Dora Milaje, a warrior of the highest order, and one of the few people the King trusted to keep an eye on his "volatile" nephew. She wasn't family, though she moved through the palace with the authority of someone who had earned her place through blood and steel. She was a woman of iron discipline, her shaved head gleaming under the lab lights, her spear never more than a reach away.

"No promises, Ayo," M’Naru said, his voice a low, confident drawl. "I expected you twenty minutes ago. Did the Queen Mother have more errands for you?"

Ayo stepped into the light, her expression unreadable. "Queen Ramonda has many concerns, Prince. Your whereabouts are often at the top of that list. Why are you down here again? The banquet for the trade ministers has already begun."

M’Naru snorted, picking up a specialized soldering tool. "The ministers want to talk about irrigation and border security. I want to talk about gravitational displacement. Since I’m the only one in this country who understands the latter, I figured my time was better spent here."

"T’Challa is asking for you," Ayo said, her tone softening just a fraction. "He knows you hate the formalities, but he values your presence. He is your cousin, M’Naru. He tries to bridge the gap you insist on widening."

"T’Challa is the Golden boy," M’Naru countered, his blue eyes flashing. "He has the blessing of the Heart-Shaped Herb. He has the support of the Council. I have a workshop in a basement and a hair color that makes the elders cross themselves when I walk by. Let’s not pretend we’re on the same level, Ayo."

He went back to his work, the blue light of the vibranium welder illuminating the focused, intense lines of his face. He didn't have the "spirit" of the panther, but he had something else. He had a mind that saw the world in equations and kinetic potential. He was the son of N’Jobu the Younger, a man who had been sent to the outside world and had seen the truth of it.

N’Jobu had met Elena Namikaze in the heart of London. She was a brilliant bio-chemist, a woman who's looks he mostly inherited along with her genius mind. Their love had been a scandal before it even started, a union of Wakandan royalty and a Western genius. They had died together in a "shipping accident" off the coast of Africa, a tragedy that T’Chaka had spent two decades trying to bury.

They had left behind a son with blonde hair and a restless soul. T’Chaka had taken him in, giving him the name M’Naru to try and ground him in the soil of his father’s home, but the boy had always been more "Naruto", the name his mother had whispered with her final breath, than he was a prince of Wakanda.

"The King is patient, but his patience has limits," Ayo warned, stepping closer to the workbench. She looked down at the gauntlets. "What are these? They look... aggressive."

"They’re kinetic collectors," M’Naru explained, his pride momentarily overriding his bitterness. "Most vibranium tech is designed to absorb impact. These absorb it, compress it, and allow the user to discharge it as a focused gravitational wave. I don’t need the strength of a panther if I can make my enemies weigh ten times their own mass."

Ayo reached out, her fingers hovering over the matte finish. "The Council will see this as a weapon of war, not defense."

"Everything is a weapon of war if you’re brave enough to use it," M’Naru said. He reached out, his hand covering hers. His skin was warm, and he saw the slight flicker in her eyes, the same flicker he saw in most women who got too close to him. He was a womanizer, a man who used his charm to mask the hollow ache of being an outsider. "But don't worry, Ayo. I only use my toys on people who deserve it."

She pulled her hand away, though not as quickly as she should have. "Go to the banquet, M’Naru. Put on the robes. Smile for the ministers. If you don't, the King will send the Dora Milaje to fetch you, and that won't be a pleasant walk."

M’Naru laughed, a sharp, infectious sound. "I’d like to see them try. But fine. For you, Ayo, I’ll play the part of the dutiful nephew. Just for an hour."

The Great Hall was a sea of color and sound. The scent of roasted meats and expensive spices filled the air, and the rhythmic beat of drums echoed off the vibranium-reinforced walls. T’Challa stood near the throne, speaking with a group of diplomats, his posture regal and welcoming.

M’Naru entered through a side door, having swapped his grease-stained tunic for a set of deep purple royal robes. They were cut to emphasize his broad shoulders and lean build, the fabric woven with subtle patterns that shimmered as he moved. He hadn't bothered to style his hair, letting the blonde locks fall where they may.

He grabbed a glass of palm wine from a passing servant and started to make his way through the crowd. He didn't have to go far before he was cornered.

"The Prince of the Forge finally joins us," a sultry voice murmured.

M’Naru turned to see Okoye’s younger sister, a woman named Zola who served in the Merchant Tribe. She was stunning, her skin the color of rich mahogany, decorated with intricate gold leaf along her collarbones. She looked at M’Naru with an openness that most Wakandans lacked.

"I heard you were building a machine to turn the moon into gold," she teased, stepping into his personal space.

"Gold is too soft," M’Naru replied, his gaze dropping to her lips. "I prefer things that have a bit more... bite."

"Is that why you spend so much time in the dark?" she asked, her hand brushing against his arm. "People say you’re dangerous, M’Naru."

"People say a lot of things when they’re bored," he said, leaning in so only she could hear him. "But if you want to know the truth, you’ll have to find out for yourself. Away from the drums and the old men."

Zola’s eyes widened slightly, a playful smirk touching her lips. "Is that an invitation, Prince?"

"It’s a suggestion," he countered.

Before she could answer, the room fell silent. King T’Chaka had stood up from the throne. He was an imposing figure, his age showing in the gray of his beard but not in the strength of his voice.

"Friends, guests, and family," T’Chaka began, his gaze sweeping the room. It lingered on M’Naru for a second longer than the rest, a silent reprimand. "We gather tonight to celebrate the prosperity of our nation and the strength of our borders. But as we look inward, we must also look outward. The world is changing. New threats are emerging, men who wear suits of iron, and shadows that have been forgotten for decades."

M’Naru felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He knew that tone. He had spent enough time in the intelligence archives to know when the King was talking about Hydra.

"We have received reports of activity in the Atlantic," T’Chaka continued. "A salvage operation near the site of... old tragedies. We will be sending a team to investigate. T’Challa will lead the expedition."

M’Naru gripped his glass so hard the stem nearly snapped. The site of old tragedies. That was the graveyard of his parents. The King was sending T’Challa to the one place that belonged to M’Naru.

"He wouldn't," M’Naru hissed under his breath.

Ayo was suddenly at his side, her hand firm on his shoulder. "Keep your voice down, M’Naru."

"He’s sending the Golden boy to pick through the bones of my family," M’Naru said, his voice trembling with a cold, focused fury. "He’s going to 'investigate' the people who murdered my mother while I’m stuck here playing dress-up for trade ministers."

"It is for your protection," Ayo whispered. "The King knows the emotional toll...."

"The King knows that if I find the people who did it, I won't bring them back for a trial," M’Naru interrupted. He set his glass down on a nearby table with a sharp clatter. "Tell the Queen I’m leaving. I’ve had enough of the festivities."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the confused looks from the diplomats and the sharp gaze of T’Challa. He didn't head for his lab. He headed for the royal hangars.

The hangar was quiet, the massive Talon fighters sitting like sleeping predators in the dim light. M’Naru moved with purpose, his formal robes discarded in a heap near the entrance. He was back in his combat gear, the dark, reinforced trousers and the sleeveless tunic that showed off his conductive tattoos.

He climbed into the cockpit of a small, experimental scout ship he had been modifying in secret. It was faster than anything in the royal fleet, stripped of its heavy armor in exchange for a cloaking field and a high-output engine.

"M’Naru! Stop!"

He looked down to see T’Challa running toward the ship, his face etched with concern. Behind him, Ayo and a group of Dora Milaje were closing in.

"Don't do this," T’Challa shouted, reaching the side of the cockpit. "My father is trying to keep you safe. Those mercenaries... they are not like the ones we face at the border. They are Hydra. They are monsters."

"Then they’re exactly my kind of people," M’Naru said, his hands moving over the controls. The ship began to hum, a low, vibrating growl that echoed through the hangar. "You can follow the protocols, T’Challa. You can wait for the Council to give you permission to breathe. But those are my parents they’re digging up. That’s my blood in that water."

"You are a Prince of Wakanda!" T’Challa yelled over the roar of the engines.

"I’m a bastard from London with a chip on my shoulder and a bag full of vibranium explosives," M’Naru countered, a grim smile on his face. "Go back to your banquet, cousin. I’ll send you a postcard from the wreck."

He slammed the canopy shut and engaged the vertical thrusters. The ship lifted off the floor, the cloaking field shimmering into existence as it cleared the hangar doors.

T’Challa stood on the hangar floor, watching the empty air where his cousin had been just seconds before. He looked at Ayo, who was holding her spear with a grip that turned her knuckles white.

"He’s going to get himself killed," T’Challa said quietly.

"Or he’s going to kill everyone he finds," Ayo replied. "I don't know which one is worse."

High above the clouds, M’Naru pushed the engines to their limit. The sensors in his gauntlets were already picking up the seismic signatures he had programmed into them weeks ago. He wasn't just a pilot; he was a hunter.

He reached into a small compartment and pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal. It was written in English, the ink faded but the words still sharp. It was his mother’s research on cellular regeneration, the work Hydra had been willing to kill for.

"I’m coming for them, Mom," he whispered, his blue eyes reflecting the glow of the dashboard. "And I’m bringing the vengeance they well earned deserve."

He wasn't a hero. He wasn't the Black Panther. He was M’Naru, the Bastard Prince, and for the first time in his life, he didn't care what the ancestors thought of him. He was going to find the truth, and he was going to make sure the world never forgot the name Naruto Uzumaki.

The ship broke through the storm clouds over the Atlantic, the dark, churning water below hiding the secrets of the past. M’Naru banked the ship, diving toward the coordinates.

The war had finally begun.

Chapter End

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A/N: I've completed up to chapter 4 of this story, so if there's interest, I can arrange to have them published. Additionally, I have the shop feature now, allowing anyone to make a one-time purchase instead of signing up for membership. I appreciate all the support, and take care until the next update!