Chapter 51

She waited until she heard the door shut behind the two warriors before wandering back out into the bed chamber. The smells of her and her husband's bodies rose faintly from the bedding and she reached over and tore the sheets off the mattress angrily, throwing them on the floor with a stamp of her foot. How dare he, how dare he embarrass her like that! Couldn't they even have a few intimate moments alone without him trying to drag Zarbon into everything? She gave the discarded sheets a kick, nearly falling over when the heavy fabric wrapped around her foot and tried to drag her down. She quickly regained her balance and her dignity, crossing her arms and scowling out at the empty room. Why couldn't Vegeta just leave Zarbon out of it for once? The tall, imposing man was there when they ate, when they sat and rested in the evening, and now even when they made love! How on earth did Vegeta expect her to just stay quiet about it? Her teeth ground together in anger and she clutched at her arms more violently. Her pounding feet found their way to the balcony doors and she burst through them, squinting against the dust that swirled up in the wind. As she looked out upon her new home she felt the fight drain out of her and disappear as irrevocably as if the stone beneath her feet had soaked it up. She set her hands on the heavy stone railing and watched the light play over the city below, the sky above dark and menacing. What light made it through the thick clouds was weak and sand-colored, much like everything else in this place. She remembered Vegeta mentioning that there had been civil war. He said it was the cause of much of the destruction she saw.

Ah, back to Vegeta again. The infernal man could never stay out of her thoughts for long, for better or worse. She leaned an elbow on the railing and set her cheek in her palm as her eyes wandered over the sandstone buildings beneath her. The figures of people moved about below her, their shapes dark and varied as new breeds of people intermingled with the native Arlians. They were her people now, she supposed. They were Vegeta's people. For the life of her she couldn't figure out how he had done it. It seemed as if someone of Vegeta's cold, caustic nature shouldn't have been able to win the hearts of so many people. What he had done must outweigh his personality in their hearts, she decided, then wondered at herself. She was worse than the people below- she was actually masochistic enough to try and build a life with him, when all he wanted was death.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes. What did she feel for him, she wondered as she watched the sunlight come through the clouds a little more strongly, turning the drab colors of the sandstone into a lighter golden hue, and it almost looked pretty. She didn't really know him, or really like him, and yet here she was, about to marry him a second time. He wanted her, that was for certain, and it wasn't as if she minded that at all, but it seemed to her as if there should have been something more. That she should have been something more than an arrogant Emperor's trophy and bedroom toy. The tears released themselves with that thought, leaving cold little trails on her cheeks where the dust in the wind adhered to her face. She was a brilliant scientist, she should have had more, she decided, reaching up and feeling the grit grind against her skin as she wiped her tears away with the gauzy sleeve of the robe. Her chest was starting to heave in earnest, and just as she was about to completely give into her sorrow there was a knock at the door. She whisked all traces of tears from her face and turned around, standing straight and proud. Regardless of how Vegeta treated her he had made her Empress, and she needed to act like one. she commanded, watching with feigned disinterest as the servants spilled into the room. Most were Arlians, but a few were other peoples she didn't have names for.

Lady, we brought you oils and salts for your bath and scents for after, one of the Arlians said, the raspy voice rattling through the room. Bulma blinked in curiosity and came back into the chamber, looking at the tray the Arlian held. The containers were beautifully shaped and suddenly she was even more anxious to take a bath. She was still examining the toiletries when she realized another servant had slipped into the bathroom and was drawing warm water.

Not too hot, another servant said to the one in the bathroom. Remember, our lady has skin of flesh.

I remember, the servant in the bathroom replied. She has most beautiful skin and it would be a shame to damage it, no matter how slightly. All the servants giggled at that and gave a little nodding bow to Bulma, who blushed and smiled uneasily. The Arlian servants fluttered their gauzy wings in laughter and set about tidying the chamber. The remainder of the group swarmed into the bathroom and started to arrange things. Bulma watched as a servant brought a basket in and snatched the bedclothes off of the floor, taking the rest off of the bed. Chairs were rearranged neatly at their desks and tables, the sills dusted, the draperies shaken, and the floor mopped of sand. Bulma just stood and watched in wonder at their smooth efficiency, thinking that they were as thorough as her robots at home.

My Lady, one of the non-Arlians in the bathroom said. Your bath is ready.

Bulma nodded and walked across the main chamber, trying to seem nice as the servants scurried out of her way and accommodate her. If they had to work for her she wanted them to like her. Thank you, she said with a nod as she walked into the bathroom and stood there, waiting for them to leave.

None of the servants went away. Two went around to her backside and tried to remove her robe while others took up sponges, washcloths, and brushes. she said sharply as they lay hands on her clothing.

Mistress, we must bathe you, a slim, purple-eyed woman with light orange skin and a crest of midnight blue hair running over her slightly pointed skull said.

No, really, that isn't necessary, Bulma replied, clamping her gauzy robe shut with both hands.

But, Lady, we have orders, another servant chimed in.

Bulma looked at them helplessly for a while. It isn't the way it's done on Earth, she said haltingly. I prefer to bathe myself.

The servants looked at each other, faces puzzled. But, Lady, you needn't be ashamed of your nakedness. You are beautiful and we are only here to serve you.

Bulma blushed. Thank you, but I'm not ready for this just yet, she replied. Perhaps in the future.

The servants stared at one another again for some moments, then bowed as a unit and backed out of the room. Bulma dashed over and shut the heavy door behind them, leaning against it for a few minutes before uttering a huge sigh of relief. She could still hear them shuffling around the room, tidying things, but she didn't suppose that any of them would burst in on her bath. She let the robe drop to the floor and looked down at herself, examining her skin. She was covered with a sheen of dust from standing on the balcony, and noticed that there were several bite marks on her skin. Vegeta's teeth marks showed slightly red on the side of her left breast, the inside of her right hip, and her thigh. She traced the marks slowly with a finger, wondering if he was marking his territory. Sighing, she reached over and sampled the water with a hand, and the smell of saltwater came to her. Saltwater? For a bath? Maybe she should have let the servants bathe her. What was she supposed to do with saltwater? She looked around hesitantly for a few moments, wondering if there was anything on the tray that would give her a clue. Finally she gave up, put her robe back on, and stuck her head out of the door. Um, excuse me? she asked, and all the servants stopped to look at her.

Yes, my Lady? they answered as one, the sound a strange mixture of grating, burbling, and chirping voices.

I will need someone to help bathe me, after all, she said hesitantly. Before she could say anything else the original servants in the bathroom rushed over to her and herded her back inside. They had stripped her before she could even open her mouth in protest. One woman, with long, white hair growing all down her back and four close-set black eyes in her head opened a bottle off of the tray and began to rub her down. She shied away from the hands over her bare skin, but another servant held her still while the white-haired woman did her work. Bulma blushed and looked away when oil was rubbed on her breasts and buttocks, but none of the other women seemed uncomfortable and she ended up feeling foolish instead of indignant. The same servant helped her up into the tub and they sat her down, leaning her head back against the rim, while they applied creams and slices of what looked like some sort of plant on her face.
When she heard them settle beside the tub she realized that no Arlians had been present. Only mammalian-types with soft fingers of flesh had been allowed to attend her. Someone was thinking well in their assignment of duties. She smiled to herself and let her body relax in the warm water, her eyes closed behind the slices of plant. So how do you like being part of the Saiyan Empire? she asked to her servants.

There was a puzzled silence, and she suddenly wished she had her sight so that she could see the expressions on their faces. she continued, less confidently.

Someone cleared her throat. It is not usual for the lady to converse casually with her servants, that someone said softly.

Bulma scowled, disrupting the lie of the plant slices. Someone was immediately up and fixing them, patting the heavy creams back into place on her face. Are you slaves? she asked abruptly.

Oh, no, the same woman replied. It's just servants and the elite do not associate.

Bulma was still scowling. That's nonsense, she growled. You're my employees. It's my job to know you and speak with you. How can I expect you to do good work if I don't keep you happy? You'll do better for me if we're friends than if I'm some sort of tyrant.

There was an awkward silence in the room. Yes, my Lady, the woman said. We shall speak frankly, then.

You can talk amongst yourselves, too, Bulma added. You're people and this is only your job. It's best if you like your job, so do whatever you need to so you can have more fun while your getting your work done. She sat up and peeled the plants from her eyes so that she could look at her women better. To her surprise they all stared at her in wonder and admiration from where they sat on tall stools around the tub. she asked.

Your Ladyship is most kind, another woman said softly, almost whispering.

Bulma smiled, aware she must look grotesque with her face covered in strange creams. Not at all, she replied. Not at all.


Bulma was sitting next to a window, reading. She had brought a suitcase full of capsules, and was finding she needed them, since she wanted entertainment and apparently wasn't allowed to leave the room. It was either distract herself of seethe about Vegeta. How dare he keep her confined! How could he just leave her all alone all day like this? She growled and turned the pages of the book angrily, then stopped to admire her hand as she did so. Her ladies had done a splendid job on her. They had explained how the oil they spread on her skin acted with the salt in the water to make her skin perfect and smooth, and they had eventually gotten the hang of working with her fingernails. None of them had fingernails like she did, and they had tittered about that at some length. She leaned back against the wall and sighed, looking out the window and fingering the velvet of the cushion she sat on. She hated him and wanted him, wanted to explore this new world and wanted to go home simultaneously. She dwelled on this for some time until the door of the chamber swung open and one of the Arlian guards, the same ones that barred her exit, stuck his head in the room. Empress? You have visitors, it rasped.

Admit them, she muttered with a wave of a hand. She could get into the whole aloof power thing, she decided.

Suddenly a flurry of gauze and wings spilled into the room, immediately mobbing her and pressing fabrics and ribbons and flowers at her. She stared at the throng of Arlians, stupefied and confused. Ladies, please, a calm, if somewhat raspy, voice said above the rustling of items. Bulma watched as an Arlian, dressed in pink gauze to match her exoskeleton and wings, parted the crowd to stand before her. Empress, I am Lemlia, Atlia's wife. We met briefly yesterday on your tour.

Of course, Lemlia, Bulma said, standing and offering her hand. Lemlia looked at it for a moment, then hesitantly reached out to take it. The Arlian's forearm was wound with gold wire. That's a lovely piece, Bulma said, gesturing.

Lemlia bowed her head. Thank you, she said sweetly. It is my wedding bracelet. All married Arlians wear them.

Oh, yes. I recall admiring Atlia's yesterday, Bulma said, and motioned for everyone to sit.

Another cushion appeared for Lemlia to sit upon, the thin Arlian sinking to rest upon it as she folded her wings behind her. Empress, I have been given the task of assisting you in selecting your wedding accessories. You are to be married again within the week.

Bulma covered her surprise. Please, call me Bulma. A week? That soon?

Lemlia nodded her head, her dark insect eyes unblinking. The Emperor has declared it so. His word is what shall be.

Bulma narrowed her eyes. What do you think of Vegeta? she asked softly, almost a hiss.

Lemlia's wings fluttered a little behind her. I think he is a more than suitable Emperor. He will protect us from Freeza when the time comes. I owe him a personal debt as well, for it was he who restored me to Atlia.

Bulma was intrigued and decided to let it show. Oh, really? I'm afraid he hasn't really told me anything about how he came to power, she said smoothly.

He was originally a prisoner with Zarbon and my husband. He became the champion of the arena, killing all his opponents. Then he was badly injured and Zarbon became the runner-up, also defeating all his opponents. The two met on the arena sands, but instead of destroying one another they led a revolt in which Vegeta singlehandedly killed most of the tyrant's army. Then he killed the tyrant himself, who had made me his against my will and taken me from Atlia soon after we were married, and restored me to my love. For that alone Atlia and I will follow him to our graves, but all of Arlia is indebted to him for freeing us.

Bulma put a hand to her chin and nodded, narrowing her eyes. There was much Vegeta was hiding from her, and she intended to find it all out. Very interesting. I congratulate you on your happiness, she said, and reached out to touch Lemlia's hand lightly.

The Arlian bowed her head. Thank you. There were several moments of silence, the only interruption the rustling of clothes. Well, shall we pick fabric for your gown? Lemlia finally said.

Bulma let her eyes wander over the fine cloth. I suppose, she said, feeling a strange glee well up in her. Just because Vegeta was an asshole didn't mean he was going to ruin an Empress's wedding. Let's get to work.


Her ladies-in-waiting had all gone, taking with them their samples of cloth and lace-like trim, not even leaving her the hologram books of flowers. She leaned back against the window and sighed, her eyes tripping across the sand-colored clouds as she searched for clear sky. Only her books remained to entertain her, but she found it difficult to concentrate on the words when so many of her own thoughts were spinning in her head. She thought of home and her parents, missing Yamcha very suddenly and as sharply as a screwdriver in her chest. He had always tried to make her laugh and keep her entertained, she had forgotten that about him. She wondered what Goku was doing, if he missed her or if he missed Radditz. Then, as always, her mind settled into thoughts of Vegeta like testing icy waters. Try as she might, she always shied away from his memory at first, then slowly eased herself in, remembering the way his eyes burned, then his chiseled lips, and finally pulling her mind's eye away to see all of him. She didn't want to remember the cruel twist to those lips, or the arctic sarcasm of his deep voice, the tones from his throat as smooth as ice. That was how they battled each other, she realized as she looked out upon the sandy grounds of Arlia. When she treated him with fire he responded with ice, and when his ire burned she became cold. The only time they both rose with flame was in the bedroom. Why? Why did it have to be that way? Why didn't she know him at all?

She was startled out of her wretched musings by a rapping at her door. She rose to go and answer it, but the heavy wooden doors swung open and several beings entered the room. One, a fleshy purple thing with several arms and protruding eyes, ran one of its two-fingered hands over the door and gave a burbling whistle. Ooo, wood. This is the royal palace indeed, it muttered.

Bulma found herself surprised. Of course this is the palace, she said, her voice sharp.

The purple thing looked at her and rippled in what she supposed was a bow. Pardon, Empress, it bubbled. Wood is rare on Arlia. The doors of all the other dwellings are made of fabric. Your doors are worth more than gold.

Bulma blinked. Oh. I wasn't aware, she murmured, putting a hand to her collarbones as she looked at the motley bunch. They all held different devices, some of which resembled Earth stringed instruments. Are you musicians? she asked.

The purple one rippled its body again. Yes, your highness. We were sent here to entertain you. Your husband has retired to his rooms to prepare for the evening's feast as well as to closet with his advisors to discuss tomorrow's meetings, it said, voice garbled.

Bulma found herself planting her hands on her hips. His rooms? she asked angrily. You, come over here, she growled, pointing at the purple thing. You're obviously the spokesperson.

The thing rippled. I'm the only one that speaks Standard, Empress, it explained, and bumped over to her.

What do you mean, his rooms'? she hissed, narrowing her eyes and leaning close to the moist purple flesh.

The Emperor has his own set of chambers, Empress, it whispered back. Arlians think it unseemly for a male and female to dwell in the same rooms.

Even as husband and wife? she asked quietly.

The thing let its eyes flicker to the guards standing on the other side of the open doors. You were married on your home planet? it asked.

Shut those doors! Bulma ordered sharply, pointing imperiously at the guards. The Arlians looked abashed, as much as their exoskeletons would allow, at least, and quickly shut the doors. She sighed and shook her head, then focused her attention on the purple being. Yes, we were, she confirmed.

But you weren't married in the eyes of all in the Empire. It doesn't count until you are. The Emperor took a big risk staying in your chambers last night. Word is all over the city that he didn't leave you until midmorning, and even then only after Lord Zarbon roused him.

Bulma's cheeks flared pink. So? I'm a grown woman and he's a man, she protested.

The purple thing shrugged its many appendages. But he's also an Emperor, and you're only an Empress right now because he says you are. Only your wedding will truly make it so, it explained, then gripped its instrument more tightly. This does not matter, my Lady, it said suddenly. We have our orders to entertain you until your body servants come to prepare you for supper.

Bulma only had enough time to wonder where the orders came from before the small ensemble started to play. She sat down on her cushion and stared in wonder at the instruments, engulfed in the strange and beautiful sounds she was hearing produced. The time passed quickly, and before she knew it the servants from her bath were back in the room and helping her to dress for dinner.


I'm telling you, she didn't take it well, Zarbon whispered.

Radditz looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he took another sip of wine. Nappa was twirling the ends of his moustache and looking at the tables heaped with food at the side of the room, oblivious to all else.

I'm not concerned, Zarbon, Vegeta said, voice low and indifferent.

You can't afford to upset Anpane, Zarbon cautioned. She's far too valuable. You should have seen how rigid she went when I announced the event I was inviting her to was your wedding. I thought she was going to explode.
I told you I didn't care, Vegeta hissed, his dark eyes focused straight ahead.

But this could be difficult. If we lose Kijar because of this...oversight...things could become a lot worse for us, Zarbon insisted.

Vegeta gripped his goblet with a gloved hand and stood suddenly, Zarbon immediately following his lead. Radditz looked up and dropped his jaw as the door at the far end of the hall opened to reveal Bulma. He nearly knocked over his chair standing up and watched Nappa do the same. Even Zarbon's eyes grew wide as Bulma glided over the smooth floor to them. She sparkled with some sort of glittery dust, her eyelids lined with exotic paints, a design painted onto her bare forehead that implied antennae, the lines resting just above her fine blue eyebrows. The gown she wore was made of a finely spun gauze, the fabric clinging to her chest and hips and flowing everywhere else. Her hair was piled on top of her head and secured with fine gold wires that extended down her head to curl on her cheeks in front of her ears. Her ears dripped with jewels, as did her wrists. Only a single gem sat in the notch at the base of her throat, her only ring the golden wedding band. She took her seat across from Zarbon, at Vegeta's left, and nodded to all. As he sat down Zarbon noticed that her fair, flushed skin had been oiled, the light, sweet scent drifting to his nostrils and captivating him. How had he ever managed to worry that she wouldn't fit the role of Empress?

Good evening, he whispered to her. He felt a motion at his side and saw that Radditz had coiled his tail tightly, his whole body trembling. The Saiyan's nostrils were flared and his fists clenched, his eyes burning with pain and desire as he looked at her. Zarbon looked over at Vegeta expectantly and was surprised when the Prince sat down without even glancing at his wife.

Bulma was surprised as well, apparently, and the hurt showed on her lovely features like a bruise on a fine petal. Good evening, Zarbon, she replied. And to you, Radditz, and you, Nappa.

The best of evenings to you, Radditz whispered breathlessly.

Nappa sat up and blinked at her.

How was your afternoon? Zarbon asked, feigning nonchalance.

Bulma looked at him, the blue eyes still shadowed. Fine. Some musicians came to entertain me, she said, glancing at Vegeta. The Saiyan didn't respond, but Zarbon let out a relieved breath. They were very good and I enjoyed them.

Zarbon said courteously.

Are you ready for the wedding? Nappa interjected suddenly.

Zarbon, Radditz, and Bulma turned their heads to stare at him. The large man shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. Uh, I'm starting to be, she said hesitantly.

Nappa nodded his head, scowling. Good. You'd better be. Zarbon went through hell to get Anpane to agree to come. Thinks there might be trouble.

Alarm spread across Bulma's features and Zarbon felt his heart quail. This poor woman, he thought. It wasn't fair to her. So newly married to so cold a man, and then to be thrown in with these brutish warriors and a jealous queen of an alien planet. There's no need to talk about this now-- he began.

Anpane's just jealous, Radditz growled. She wanted to marry Vegeta and consolidate her power. Maybe she'd find out if Saiyans and Kijarans can interbreed.

Bulma turned her jeweled head to stare at Vegeta, who continued to ignore her. she said softly.

You never should have married her, Vegeta, Radditz said, the words seeming to tumble out of his mouth unbidden. You should have set her free. She could have been happy.

Bulma and Zarbon gasped in unison, then looked at each other. She reddened and turned her eyes away, and he knew she was still embarrassed about that morning. He smiled to himself and felt his heart go out to her at the same time he felt it burn angrily at Vegeta.

Vegeta did notice her then, his eyes passing over her before turning wrathfully at Radditz. You are not going to ruin this banquet before it starts, he growled. She is mine.

Zarbon watched Nappa's eyes slide to his prince, the meaty jaw tightening as the lips narrowed beneath the moustache. Bulma's eyes narrowed angrily, and suddenly Vegeta's voice rumbled through his head Don't fight me, woman! He looked around, masking his startlement, and saw on the others' faces that they had heard him internally as well. What was interesting, he thought, was that Bulma scowled at Vegeta even more intently and a sudden wave of something passed over Vegeta's face. Hold your tongue, Vegeta said to her aloud.

What else was interesting was how pale Nappa had gone, his skin whitening all the way to the top of his bald skull.

Leave this for later, Zarbon said swiftly. We have a banquet to conduct. You can introduce Bulma to Anpane when the Kijar ship arrives in a couple of days, Vegeta.

That soon? Radditz said.

Zarbon nodded. We sent word out weeks ago to all the planetary dignitaries that the Emperor required their presence here. We just didn't tell them why until today.

Bulma could be in danger! Radditz gasped.

Bulma opened her mouth, a scowl on her painted brow, but Vegeta beat her to it. Then why don't you guard her, Radditz? he said softly, a cruel smile warping the chiseled line of his mouth.

Radditz stared from him to Bulma in shock and no small amount of horror. Zarbon winced. It would be like torture, to be so close to the woman he wanted and not be able to do a thing. Radditz croaked.

We're in the middle of a banquet, Zarbon hissed, glancing down the table at the multitude of restless dignitaries.

Yes, let us begin, Vegeta said, and stood away from his chair at the head of the table to address the crowd.

Zarbon sat back, only half-listening to Vegeta's speech. There were too many things he needed to get done. He had to see to Bulma- the poor woman didn't deserve such treatment. That was not the way men should treat their wives. It was not the way he had treated his wife. The thought struck him with a pain he thought buried decades before, but he brushed it aside. He also needed to speak with Radditz, to make sure things were understood. But most importantly, perhaps above all, he needed to speak to Nappa. He needed to find out what secret the Commander had about what was going on between Vegeta and Bulma. He had to know everything, in case it came down to losing it all.