Nashuri Collection (Namor x Shuri)

The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul pt 1.

1.

1.

M'Baku saw it. Knew exactly when her gaze turned towards him a few weeks ago. The first sign was always in the eyes. They were too soulful not to spill their truth. Maybe he should have acknowledged it earlier.

Shuri's eyes were dark brown jewels. No longer so dead-looking. Renewed with purpose. With interest?

Closeness bred intimacy.

Hanuman forbid. The mere flicker of her interest would send that fish man off-kilter in wrathful passion.

Shuri was telling him about her latest invention, smiling and excitedly pointing to a sketch on the paper in her hand. Her lips were a deep red, and her mascara was cat-eyed. She had made an effort to dress in something other than hoodies or lab gear.

The evidence was adding up, and it curled something in his stomach. The sun was merciless all over Wakanda but the worst in the Golden City. He wiped his sweaty brow with his arm and registered her lingering gaze.

After another sip, she put her freshly squeezed mango juice down. It was custom to make and offer a drink to guests in Jabariland, so he brought this tradition to the palace. Shuri had thanked him as if he hung the stars in the sky or she had no knowledge of a mango's sweetness before.

"M'Baku, see you'll be able to store your furs without them gathering mold. Once I have a bigger version, you'll wave the ball like this, and—bam! It's like a pocket dimension. Except it will fit in your pocket. You will be able to store anything except—"

He held up a hand.

They often met for morning talks on one of the many royal family home patios, and he admittedly enjoyed them. M'Baku had eight sisters, four older and four younger. Most days he felt as if he inherited Shuri as a ninth. On others, she was more like a good friend.

"I've wives that clean and store my furs."

Her face pinched, but she held her tongue.

"You're traditional to a fault." She rolled her eyes. "I know Maryam and Chioma take pride in cleaning, but this will make life easier. It's like a mini dry cleaner and a closet all-in-one."

There was a brightness in her eyes. She was waiting for his approval. A young beautiful woman in her twenties wanted an old dusty man's praise (he was nearly forty years old).

He faked a stern frown as if he could truly be cruel to her. "Do you wish to be my wife? I keep my women barefoot and pregnant, and I'd need at least three children from you. I'm a lot to take. No more lab work for you either."

Her eyes went wide and she stuttered. But no smart-mouthed tongue or gagging noises. She was thinking mostly.

"What are you talking about?" She squeaked. Everything confirmed his suspicion.

"You're here trying to clean." He gestured to her planning sheets and prototype drawings spread across the table near their finished meal. "And cook and care for me. The palace servants and my wives already do this. You want to be the fourth?"

His expression wasn't unkind, but he had to put an end to this before her feelings further bloomed. Her incessant need to meet more often hadn't been a concern before, but now he knew the majority was an excuse to see him.

Shuri was highly intelligent, so she tried to maneuver the conversation elsewhere. "Stop joking. Lord M'Baku cannot clean for himself, eh? Are you trying to recruit me into the cleaning crew? Your wives are just maids, huh?"

M'Baku shook his head, needing to wrap up the conversation. As the current ruler, there were many things to oversee, and their morning time was running over.

He told her, "Enough. All my wives were former warriors or homemakers. Don't minimize them into one thing. I'm careful not to do so myself. They've served on the battlefield and now prefer the mundane. Two of them at least."

She sighed. Steeled herself. Her eyes were recalibrating and searching his. The furrowed brow showed she was opinionated but didn't want to offend him.

"Let us be on something else then. I just wanted to help you. Besides, I've other inventions. You won't have to use a knife anymore to skin your carrots. My kimoyo beads can precisely cut your carrot at a slant just the way you like," she said sweetly. Pretty smile.

M'Baku rubbed his forehead. It was so obvious to him. Shuri, who could barely stand to be in his presence before without mocking him, was meditating on ways to make his life more convenient. This went beyond being his confidante.

"Wakanda needs your "busy" but bright mind elsewhere," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"M'Baku—"

He didn't relish in gore, so he made his next cut clean. "I know with T'Challa gone ..." Her face fell as if he punched her. "You've had to fill the empty space. I'm honored to care for you, but I cannot return your affection."

Despite her automatic scoffing, he wounded her. And it hurt him terribly, but he liked to get to the point. He had wanted his wife Chioma to let her down, but she convinced him to do it himself. His wives loved Shuri. No wonder she thought she was apt to join them.

He saw a line of water in her eyes, but her voice was steady. She folded her hands in her lap. "Whatever, M'Baku. I'm a scientist. I just like figuring things out and sharing my ideas. Nothing more."

"Shuri, you've never shown them to me before. Always you'd just pop into council with what you've already created and expended Wakandan resources for." He didn't want to drift off into the usual financial argument. "Don't think me naive for noticing the change in your attention."

Her eyes were round and soft. Blinking rapidly, she pretended. "I could never. With you? No, I already know you like your women beautiful, thick, and strong. Why would I have a chance?" She laughed with no humor.

He reached across the table easily with his stature. He cupped her face in his hands. She tried to bite one of his fingers.