Princes of the Universe (Maylor AU)

Chapter 5

"We were separated after our planet was attacked," Tim chimed in, earning a shocked look from the blonde who had never heard him speak before, the only form of communication he used with the prince being a limited mixture of grunts and growls. Yet there he was, repeating the same lines that John had given them on the spaceship they'd ridden to Rhye as if he hadn't been mute all this time like Roger suspected he was. "She probably thinks we're dead."

"You poor things," Freddie pouted pitifully, not believing a word that came out of their mouths. Hell, he wouldn't even believe them if the queen confirmed their story herself.

The dark-haired man had been wary of the woman that the prince intended to marry since the minute she kneeled before him in the great hall, begging for asylum from her planet that supposedly had been invaded. By who? She couldn't remember, too traumatized by the event to recall their identity. She had no idea how she wound up on Rhye either, raising a few suspicious brows that were mostly placated by her charming demeanor.

With her flawless, porcelain skin and long, golden brown hair that was styled perfectly at any given time of day—a type of otherworldly beauty that few, if any, Rhyian women possessed—Freddie advised Brian against allowing her in, but the prince was already smitten, and it wasn't long before the rest of the kingdom was too. What they all failed to notice, though, and what Freddie had picked up on, was the small, flashing red light the size of a pinpoint tucked behind her green iris, and the subtle twitches that overcame her sporadically, accompanied by a soft, mechanical clicking. He had even caught her several times talking to herself, but many refused to entertain these faults of hers, too distracted and triumphed by her heavenly appearance.

"We'd just like to see her," John stressed politely. "Please."

The dark-haired man stared at John, ignoring the two other men who had joined his side in the center of the hall below him. Freddie swore he'd seen him before, but he couldn't place his finger on where, and before he could ask, a gasp sounded from the other side of the room. The group of three spun around, everyone's eyes falling upon the queen they'd been requesting to see.

She squealed in absolute delight, the click of her heels against the linoleum bouncing off the walls as she raced across the room and jumped at the three men, embracing them in a warm, welcoming hug. While holding onto her—John squished between Roger and Tim—the blonde furrowed his brow, wondering why this soon-to-be queen recognized them so readily as her "brothers" when Roger had never seen her before.

What he didn't know was that he had; his memory just served him poorly.

The group of four disbanded and the queen smiled brightly at the men standing before her, murmuring, "Oh my, I thought I'd never see you again." Though her words were directed at all of them, her eyes had locked on John's, and John's on hers. A slight blush crept up in the young man's face, but it went unnoticed thanks to the rose-hued powder that had been brushed across his cheeks.

"You know them, Chrissie?" Freddie sneered, attracting the queen's attention as he descended the rest of the staircase, a pompous air to his steps.

She giggled, her infectious laugh failing to have its usual effect on her audience. "Of course I know them, Fred. They're my brothers."

He approached the small group with his head held high and arms crossed over his puffed-out chest. "Then what are their names?" he asked.

Roger's heart beat a little faster against his ribcage at the dark-haired man's question, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, the blonde sensing that this might be the moment that would make or break their plan. He started to prepare for the worst, scoping out the hall's exits and thinking about how many rooms he'd have the chance to break into before word got around and the prince was whisked off to safety, for even he didn't remember the names they'd taken on. Much to his surprise, though, Chrissie—without missing a single beat—replied, "Why, this is Staffell, Deacon, and Meddows," associating each alternative name to the correct man with a delicate gesture of her hand.

Freddie tutted. "What kind of names are those?"

"Our names," Tim—or rather, Staffell—answered defensively, fists clenched tightly by his sides, ready for a fight. John—Deacon—raised a precautionary hand to the brunette's chest, holding him back.

"It's not like they chose them, Fred," the soon-to-be queen interjected, her obvious lie diffusing the situation before it could escalate.

"Sure they didn't," he muttered, still unconvinced of the situation unfolding before him.

"Why don't you be so kind and go and prepare the guest chambers for my brothers?" Chrissie suggested, though her suggestion was less than optional. She smiled again at the three men and added, "I can give you all a tour in the meantime."

"What? No," the dark-haired man objected, regaining the queen's attention—the grin on her face falling into a straight, unamused line.

"No?" she repeated tersely.

"No," Freddie asserted. "You're not going to give them a tour, and I'm not going to prepare any chambers for them. Not without discussing it with Brian first."

She scoffed, turning towards him and mirroring his cross-armed stance. "Why would we need to do that, Fred? They're my family."

"You have no family!" he shouted, his booming voice reverberating throughout the room and the corridors extending from it. Tense silence quickly consumed the hall, the weight of his exclamation bearing down on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to stay strong under the contentious stares directed his way. "You said they died, Chrissie," he explained more calmly. "When you came here, you told us you'd lost everyone, everything."

"Because I thought I did," she muttered, producing a false set of tears that twisted the guilty daggers wedged inside his heart. John shook his head in contempt and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Chrissie and providing her a shoulder to cry on—her artificial tears trickling down the synthetic material his silver jumpsuit was made out of. Tim followed suit, and when Freddie's critical gaze flickered over to the blonde who had been referred to as Meddows, Roger sprang into action and joined the embrace.

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes at the spectacle, tapping his fingers against his upper arm in anticipation of its end. However, when the soon-to-be queen's sobs persisted, growing louder and louder with each shaky intake of air, Freddie heaved an irritated sigh and—fearing that Rhye's prince would be awoken and drawn to the misleading scene if it continued—groaned. "Fine!" The makeshift family separated once more, the queen looking back with imitation bloodshot eyes. "I'll get the rooms ready for you, and you can show them around, but for the love of the White Queen, would you stop crying?"

Chrissie sniffled, a fake tear streaming down her cheek and an appreciative grin tugging at the corners of her quivering lips. "Thank you, Freddie."

He threw an index finger her way. "Just know that if you lose any of them in this castle, though, it's falling on you." He poked himself in the chest and shook his head. "Not me."

She leaned forward, bringing their faces close together. "Don't worry, darling." The moniker Freddie had become famous for using slid off her tongue like venom. "You have my word." The queen smirked and cupped his face in her hands. "And if that's not good enough for you, you've got Brian's too." She belittlingly patted him on the cheeks and turned her back to him, pushing through the group of three and, with the flick of her wrist, commanded them to follow her out. John winked at the dark-haired man while Roger shrugged his shoulders apologetically—or as apologetically as someone who wasn't really sorry could—and the two trailed behind Chrissie with Tim in tow.

"'Told you it was going to work," John mumbled as the four rounded a corner, escaping the dark-haired man's glare that burned into their backs the entire way out.

"But how?" Roger whispered, genuinely shocked that they had made it out of there unscathed and with the woman they sought to see. "Why is she—"

"I'll tell you later," he promised, slapping the blonde on the back and picking his pace up to join the soon-to-be queen's side, giving Tim the opportunity to slip beside the prince who instinctively rolled his eyes.

"I didn't know you could talk," Roger blurted out, glancing over at the guard who chuckled—another thing the blonde didn't know he was capable of.

"And I didn't know you could keep your mouth shut for more than two seconds," the brunette shot back, earning a playful yet harsh punch in the shoulder.