The Blonde Prince Of Wakanda (CH 3) (Patreon)

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

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Chapter 3: The Lion’s Den

The return to Wakanda was not met with the silent, cloaked efficiency M’Naru usually preferred. As his scout ship crossed the invisible barrier of the cloaking field, the sky didn't just open up to reveal the Golden City; it opened up to three Talon fighters flanking him in a tight, aggressive combat formation.

"M’Naru, this is General Okoye," a sharp, uncompromising voice crackled over his comms. "Power down your weapon systems and follow the flight path to the Royal Hangar. Do not attempt to deviate, or we will be forced to treat you as a hostile element."

M’Naru leaned back in his pilot seat, a dry smirk tugging at his lips. He looked at the HUD, where the three fighters were locked onto his engines. He could outmaneuver them if he really wanted to, especially with the gravitational pulse drive he had installed in the scout ship’s tail, but he wasn't looking for a dogfight with his own people. Not today.

"Hostile element? That’s a bit cold, Okoye," M’Naru replied, his voice smooth despite the adrenaline still humming in his veins. "I’m just a prince coming home from a late-night stroll. Tell the King to put the kettle on. I’m exhausted."

"The King is not in a mood for jests," Okoye snapped. "Land. Now."

The scout ship touched down in the Royal Hangar with a soft hiss of pneumatic struts. Before the canopy had even finished sliding back, a dozen Dora Milaje had surrounded the craft, their vibranium spears pointed directly at the cockpit. In the center of the formation stood T’Chaka himself, draped in his ceremonial robes, his face a mask of disappointment and simmering anger. T’Challa stood a step behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, looking more pained than angry.

M’Naru stood up, hopping over the side of the cockpit instead of using the ladder. He landed lightly on the hangar floor, his dark combat gear dusty and smelling of salt water. He looked at the spears, then at his uncle.

"Quite the welcome," M’Naru said, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. "Should I have brought souvenirs?"

"You defied a direct order," T’Chaka said, his voice low and vibrating with the weight of his office. "You stole a prototype vessel, breached our borders, and engaged in a skirmish with a foreign power. You have risked the secrecy of our nation for the sake of a personal vendetta."

"It wasn't a vendetta, Uncle. It was a recovery mission," M’Naru countered, his blue eyes hardening. "Hydra was cutting into my father’s ship. They were digging through my mother’s journals. Were you just going to let them have it? Were you going to sit in your council meetings and debate the ethics of intervention while they walked away with Wakandan secrets?"

"We had a team prepared!" T’Challa stepped forward, his voice rising. "I was going to lead it. We follow protocols for a reason, M’Naru. Your recklessness could have led Hydra straight back to these coordinates."

M’Naru stepped toward T’Challa, ignoring the spears that shifted closer to his throat. "I didn't bring them back here. I left them at the bottom of the Atlantic. And I did it faster and more efficiently than any 'team' you would have sent. Your protocols are just another word for hesitation."

"Enough," T’Chaka commanded. He looked at the Dora Milaje. "Confiscate his gauntlets. Search the ship. M’Naru, you will remain in the royal quarters under guard until the Council decides how to proceed with your treason."

"Treason?" M’Naru laughed, though there was no humor in it. "I’m the only one in this room who actually went out and defended the family name today. But fine. Take the toys. I can always build more."

He held out his wrists. Two Dora Milaje stepped forward, carefully unlatching the matte-black gauntlets. They handled the tech with a mixture of awe and suspicion. They knew what those gauntlets could do. They had seen the footage of M’Naru’s training sessions where he flattened testing dummies with nothing but a flick of his wrist.

As they led him away, M’Naru caught Ayo’s eye. She was standing at the edge of the guard detail, her expression troubled. He gave her a small, mocking wink, which earned him a sharp poke in the ribs from the spear-butt of the guard behind him.

The royal quarters were less of a prison and more of a golden cage. His suite was expansive, filled with the finest silks, the most advanced entertainment systems, and a balcony that overlooked the entirety of Birnin Zana. But the doors were locked from the outside, and the Kimoyo bead on his wrist had been deactivated.

M’Naru didn't mind. He had planned for this.

He sat on the edge of his oversized bed, pulling a small, translucent chip from the hidden lining of his boot. He had swapped the real data drive for a dummy during the flight back, knowing the King would seize his gear. The real data, the legacy of Elena Namikaze, was currently sitting in his palm.

"Bast," he whispered.

The wall across from him shimmered. A hidden interface he had hard-wired into the room's ventilation system months ago flickered to life. A holographic projection of his AI appeared, its form a shifting mass of blue geometric patterns.

"Welcome back, M’Naru," Bast said. "I have already bypassed the local security dampeners. You have approximately twelve minutes before the palace network detects my presence."

"That’s all I need. Upload the drive. I want a full breakdown of the biological markers my mother was tracking."

"Uploading... Decryption in progress."

M’Naru watched the data stream. It wasn't just chemical formulas. There were maps, not of the Earth, but of energy ley lines. His mother had been tracking something she called "The Pulse." It was a frequency that existed beneath the surface of the world, a resonance that vibrated at the same level as vibranium but was fundamentally different. It was organic.

"It’s a map," M’Naru muttered, standing up and walking toward the hologram. "She wasn't just looking for minerals. She was looking for a source."

"Analysis suggests the frequency matches the theoretical markers mentioned in your mother’s private journals," Bast reported. "However, the source is not in Wakanda. The strongest resonance is located in the Western Hemisphere. Specifically, the Northeastern United States."

"New York," M’Naru said, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

The coincidence was too much. The Avengers were in New York. Stark was in New York. And now, the secret to his mother’s research was pointing directly at the most chaotic city on the planet.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Bast vanished instantly, the holographic interface blending back into the wall decorations.

The door slid open, and Zola stepped inside. She wasn't wearing her merchant robes today; she was in a form-fitting dress of deep crimson that left very little to the imagination. She carried a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"The guards are very strict today," she said, her voice like velvet. "But they have a weakness for a woman who brings gifts for the 'Tragic Prince'."

M’Naru relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. He walked toward her, taking the tray and setting it on the table. "Tragic Prince? Is that what they’re calling me now? I prefer 'Misunderstood Genius', but I’ll take what I can get."

Zola laughed, stepping into his space. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "They’re calling you a lot of things, M’Naru. Bold. Dangerous. A fool. My father is furious that you walked out of the banquet, but I found it... refreshing."

"Refreshing is my specialty," M’Naru said. He poured two glasses of wine, handing one to her. He watched the way the light caught the gold leaf on her skin. She was a distraction, one he desperately needed after the chaos of the Atlantic.

He didn't care about the politics of her tribe or the expectations of the court. In this moment, she was just a beautiful woman who looked at him without seeing a "bastard" or a "contaminant." She saw a man who had more fire than the rest of the Golden City combined.

"They say you met a woman on the ship," Zola said, her eyes searching his. "A foreigner. A redhead."

M’Naru took a slow sip of his wine. "News travels fast. She was a professional. A woman dressed in a black suit. Interesting, but she didn't have your... local charm."

"Is that so?" Zola leaned in, her lips inches from his. "Because I heard you let her walk away with a prisoner. That doesn't sound like the M’Naru I know. The M’Naru I know takes what he wants."

"I took what mattered," M’Naru replied.

He set his glass down and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The heat of her body was a grounding force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, tasting the wine and practically feeling the lust rolling of her in waves.

For a few hours, the data drive, the King, and the looming threat of Hydra didn't exist. There was only the rhythm of the city outside and the woman in his arms. M’Naru was a man of many appetites, and he had never been one to deny himself pleasure, especially when the world was trying to lock him in a cage.

Late that night, after Zola had slipped back out past the guards, M’Naru stood on his balcony. The city was quiet, the bioluminescent lights of the buildings glowing like a field of fallen stars.

He felt the weight of the data chip in his pocket. He knew he couldn't stay here. T’Chaka would eventually "forgive" him, but it would come at the cost of his freedom. They would put him in a laboratory, give him a budget, and tell him what to build. They would use his genius to fortify their walls, but they would never let him see what was on the other side.

"Bast," he whispered.

"I am here, Master."

"I need a way out. Not just out of this room, but out of the country. I need to get to New York without the Talon fighters shooting me out of the sky."

"The King’s personal transport is being prepped for a diplomatic mission to the United Nations in forty-eight hours," Bast reported. "T’Challa will be on board. If we can bypass the biometric scanners, we could stow away in the cargo hold. However, the risk of discovery is high."

"I don't do 'stow away', Bast. If I’m going to New York, I’m going in style."

M’Naru looked at the conductive tattoos on his forearms. They were pulsing faintly, reacting to the ambient vibranium in the air. He had an idea, an insane, dangerous idea that would likely get him exiled for life.

"Can you access the Shuri’s private server?" he asked.

"The Princess has formidable firewalls, but she often uses the same encryption key for her personal projects as she does for her music playlists. It would take me three minutes."

"Do it. I need the specs for the new phase-shifter she’s been working on. If I can integrate that into my scout ship’s cloaking field, I won't just be invisible to radar. I’ll be invisible to the eye."

"And the scout ship, sir? It is currently being dismantled by the design group."

M’Naru smiled. "They’re dismantling the shell. But they’ll never find the core. I built that ship to be modular. All I need is a distraction."

The next morning, the distraction came in the form of an unexpected visitor.

Shuri walked into his room, bypassing the guards with a flick of her Kimoyo bead. she looked around the suite, her nose wrinkled in mock disgust.

"It smells like expensive wine and sex in here," she said, hopping onto the table and swinging her legs.

"It’s called 'ambiance', Shuri. You’ll understand when you’re older," M’Naru replied, sitting in a chair across from her.

"Father is really mad this time, M’Naru. He’s talking about stripping your title. Permanently. The Council thinks you’re a danger to our isolationist policy."

"I am a danger to it," M’Naru said. He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Shuri, you’ve seen the world. You’ve seen what’s happening out there. People are flying. They’re shooting lasers out of their eyes. The world is getting smaller, and Wakanda is trying to pretend the walls are getting taller."

Shuri sighed, her bravado slipping. "I know. I try to tell them, but they only listen to half of what I say. They want the tech, but they don't want the responsibility that comes with it."

"Then help me," M’Naru said. "I’m leaving, Shuri. I have to find something. Something my mother left behind. It’s in the States."

Shuri looked at him, her eyes wide. "You’re going to run away? To America? You’ll be a fish out of water. You don't know how they live there. It’s messy and loud and... and they eat terrible food."

"I’ll survive," M’Naru said, reaching out to pat her hand. "But I need my gear back. And I need a clear window to get out of the hangar."

Shuri bit her lip, looking toward the door. "If I help you, I’ll be in as much trouble as you are."

"They won't know it was you. I’ve already set up a logic loop in the security feed. It’ll look like a system glitch caused by the storm. All you have to do is 'accidentally' leave the lab door unlocked tonight."

Shuri was silent for a long moment. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver disc, a master override key. She slid it across the table toward him.

"I’m only doing this because I want to see what you do to Tony Stark’s ego," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But if you get caught, I’m telling Father you threatened me with a kinetic blast."

"Deal," M’Naru said, pocketing the disc.

Midnight in Birnin Zana was a time of deep shadows and soft hums. M’Naru moved through the palace corridors like a ghost, his conductive tattoos dimmed to a low, barely visible flicker. He reached the Research and Development wing, the master key from Shuri glowing green as he pressed it against the reader.

The doors slid open.

His lab was a mess. The design group had picked through his notes, but they hadn't touched his secondary workbench, the one disguised as a heavy storage unit.

He worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced precision. He grabbed his gauntlets, sliding them back onto his wrists. The weight of them felt right, like a missing part of his own body. He then grabbed a small, pulsating device from Shuri’s workbench, the phase-shifter.

"Bast, sync the gauntlets to the lab’s internal power grid. I need a ten-second burst to jumpstart the scout ship’s core."

"Ready, Master. Initiating pulse in three... two... one..."

A wave of blue energy rippled through the room. At the far end of the hangar, the discarded husk of his scout ship suddenly hummed. The internal components, the ones the designers hadn't been able to remove, glowed with a fierce, white light.

M’Naru didn't run for the ship. Instead, he tapped a sequence into his gauntlet.

The "scout ship" didn't just power up; it unfolded. The outer plating, which he had designed to be easily discarded, fell away in chunks of scrap metal. What remained was a sleek, needle-like craft, barely large enough for one pilot, built entirely of polished, black vibranium. It was the Maelstrom, his masterpiece.

He leaped into the cockpit, the systems coming online instantly.

"Phase-shifter engaged," Bast reported. "We are currently out of sync with the visible light spectrum. To the guards, the ship has simply vanished."

"Open the bay doors, Bast. Let’s give them something to talk about."

The massive hangar doors began to grind open. Alarms immediately began to blare throughout the palace, red lights flashing against the walls. M’Naru could see the Dora Milaje rushing into the hangar, their spears raised, but they were looking at the empty space where the ship used to be.

He slammed the throttle forward.

The Maelstrom shot out of the hangar like a bolt of lightning. The G-force pressed him into his seat, but he didn't slow down. He banked the ship, soaring over the Golden City one last time. He saw the Royal Palace, the Great Mound, and the sprawling markets. He saw the home he had never quite fit into.

"Destination: New York City," M’Naru commanded.

"Course set, Master. Estimated travel time: four hours."

M’Naru looked at the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to peek over the edge of the world. He was the Bastard Prince no more. He was a man on a mission.

"Watch out, New York," he whispered, a sharp, cocky grin returning to his face. "The whirlpool is coming."

Chapter End

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A/N: As you may have noticed, I didn't include any lemon scenes in this chapter. I've chosen to focus on the main storyline for now, but I may explore those scenes in a separate side story later. For this story, the emphasis will primarily be on the plot with some light adult content. Thank you all for your continued support. Until next time!