Princes of the Universe (Maylor AU)

Chapter 7

Tim followed after the disgruntled prince with a frustrated sigh, catching up to him with ease—the blonde's determined pace unbreaking as the other set of footsteps joined it. What struck Roger as odd was that, instead of tackling him to the ground like he usually did when he was trying to escape him, the guard walked beside him, keeping up with him as they traversed the analogous hallways, rounding corners and retracing their steps as they blindly navigated the castle that grew brighter with every step they took.

When it seemed as though they were passing through the same corridor for the third time in a row—which they were—the prince stopped dead in his tracks and stomped his foot, grunting angrily. "Where the fuck is he hiding?"

"Where the fuck is who hiding?"

The pair jumped at the unexpected response, looking back to see a tall man standing behind them. Soft, dark curls sat atop his shoulders, flowing freely from his scalp in a tamed mess. His attire aligned more with Roger's than Tim's, wearing a long, asymmetrical black robe, decorated in gold and reaching down to his knee, over a black shirt and black-and-white striped leggings. His arms were folded across his chest, but his eyes were innocent, flickering between the pair in anticipation of their answer.

The question seemed to slip both men's minds, though, as they recognized the man to be the person they were looking for—Brian, the young, naïve Prince of Rhye.

Internal conflict instantly tore the blonde apart, the urge to kill the prince right then and there battling with the nagging voice in his ear telling him that that wasn't the plan.

If it was up to him, the prince's head would already be in his hands and he'd be snapping his neck with a deft art he wished his mother was proud of, but that wasn't the case. His life was on the line, and although he would be fulfilling his mother's request if he indulged his desires—killing the prince and then fleeing before he could get caught—he would only be attending to half of it.

Yes, she wanted the prince dead, but she wanted to send a message by it; she wanted to let everyone know that Nevermore was back and ready for anything, and if Roger were to approach this like he did everything else, he wouldn't be sending that kind of message. Instead, he'd be telling everyone that he was on the run again, with the biggest target he had yet to acquire on his back.

So, for the sake of avoiding an inevitable repeat of the past, he suppressed the desire, recalling his mother's suggestion from before: Become his friend, a confidant, someone he wouldn't suspect to turn on him. Fucking seduce him for all I care. You just have to gain his trust.

Though trust wasn't something that many people placed in the blonde, it certainly was something he could manipulate people into giving him, and Brian was no different from any of the other fools who fell for his charming deceit.

"I thought they weren't supposed to say things like that," Roger whispered to Tim, the hand he had put up to his mouth doing little to prevent the man from hearing him—as intended.

"Normally, no, but I was just repeating what you said," the prince defended himself, earning a suspicious look from the two outsiders and developing a flattering shade of red in his cheeks.

A tense moment of silence passed over the three, various thoughts brewing in their heads about what was going to happen next; who was going to speak first; who was going to make the first move—be it forward or in the opposite direction. The future held so many possibilities, yet it was as though all of them were too afraid to explore them.

It was only when the Prince of Rhye cleared his throat and scuffed the floor with his black boots that the tension was severed, his head hung low and his hands clasped behind his back as he dared to ask, "So, who is it?" He lifted his gaze to meet Roger's and Tim's. "Who's hiding?"

The blonde and the brunette exchanged a nervous glance, engaging in the speechless dialect that John and Chrissie had engaged in just minutes ago. However, they failed to reach an understanding like the inventor and his android did, with Tim deciding on his own to blurt out, "Our brother."

"Our brother?" Roger echoed with a raised brow.

"Yes, our brother," the brunette asserted, gritting his teeth and glaring at the blonde out of the corner of his eyes.

Brian tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowed and his hand resting against his chin as he attempted to put names to faces. He swore he'd never before seen the man whose avian mask was now tucked inside the waistband of his leggings instead of perched atop his head, but the one wearing the diamond-embroidered jacket and dirty, white sneakers looked familiar.

"Who did you say you were, again?" he questioned, earning the attention of the conspiring men standing before him who had been wordlessly arguing over the ruse the guard chose for them.

"We're Chrissie's brothers," Tim answered, finally turning to face the tall man and matching his stance. "I'm Staffell, and he's Meddows." He nodded to the blonde who begrudgingly turned as well. "There's another one of us named Deacon, but it seems we've misplaced him."

"Chrissie's brothers?" It was as though the prince heard nothing else of the guard's response. "I-I didn't know she had any surviving family."

"Neither did I," a fourth voice joined the conversation, belonging to none other than Freddie—hunched over and gasping as if he'd just run a marathon. After drawing in a few more deep, desperate breaths, the dark-haired man collected himself, ignoring the bizarre look and glares he received from the prince and the other two as he straightened his posture and gripped his hips, explaining, "I've been looking for you." He pointed lazily at Brian.

"Why?"

He threw his hand at the imposters, the gesture nearly toppling him over. "Those two."