A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer. I appreciate everyone who was patient, supportive and encouraging. Unfortunately, my computer and email were hacked into, resulting in much stress and the need to completely erase my hard drive. Which means all my Word files were deleted. I'm sure you can understand the delay.
Last Time: Pan gets all of the rewards Trunks promised her, she gets dragged away to be married, Bulma realizes that Trunks loves Pan, Trunks (but really Bulma) rescue Pan from Keipher, and Pan says Trunks' name.
"Shattered Glass"
She was surprised when Pan looked at her son fully, and let her speech be soft and firm, and there was no teasing in her voice.
"Trunks," she repeated, giving him the smallest of smiles, to which he returned the biggest.
Pan looked away quickly, her eyes downcast, and that same smile threatened to grow over her whole face. As if saying the prince's name had some secret meaning between the two of them. As if his name meant something more than just a name.
"Keep your secrets then," Bulma said with a sniff, though meant it in jest. She did not want to pry on the secret that had passed between her son and this Pan. For there was something there. It just wasn't hers to know.
She watched for a moment as the two young adults in the carriage fidgeted helplessly. Pan seemed to be doing everything she could not to draw Trunks' attention, but all Trunks seemed to be doing was giving it. She wondered if they would be acting differently if she were not there. She contemplated getting out of the carriage to leave them to it, but there wouldn't be much of a way for her to get back to the castle herself, leaving this idea somewhat less than appealing.
Likewise she could suggest the two ride horseback up the castle to give them that alone talking time. But Pan wouldn't be capable of riding a horse in the mental state she most certainly was in, even if she had been wearing clothes that allowed it, which she wasn't.
She seemed to be forced to invade their privacy, though was rather reluctant to do so. She was thinking of way to convey this to them when Trunks interrupted her thoughts by breaking the silence.
"I just don't understand why Father signed that contract in the first place. Didn't any of it seem remotely suspicious?" The look on Pan's face told she seconded Trunks' question. Bulma felt the need to defend her husband in this blatant mutiny.
"I'm sure he did find it suspicious, because he did wait to sign the contract. It had too many complications, so he decided to wait until Miss Pan could come to the castle herself and confirm it."
"But he never confirmed it with me," Pan spoke up. Bulma blinked at her then sighed loudly.
"Ahh, yes well-"
"Wait a moment," Trunks interrupted again. "then you knew that Keipher was trying to get Pan?"
Bulma looked away slightly guilty.
"I told your father to wait until Pan got to the castle. But then with all the excitement of your return, Trunks, I just... forgot."
Pan watched the two expressionless.
"You forgot Pan would be married against her will."
"I'm sorry, I just-"
"Well, honestly, you were so shocked when I forgot that Pan had another man in her life. Yes, a sick a delusional man, but a man none the less."
"Wait," Pan said, joining in, "How could you forget Keipher? You bashed him in the head with a frying pan!" Trunks raised his hands in self defense.
"I did not… it was a wooden bowl. Besides, it's not as if I could do anything about Keipher, I didn't know my father would sign that contract. I didn't even know Keipher had that contract."
"Of course he had the contract, he wouldn't get me to marry him any other way."
"Well maybe if you had come to us sooner, you could have had your own contract signed saying-"
"You wouldn't even let me keep my land, what were the chances of letting me break a standing contract?"
Bulma watched the two of them raise voice at each other, opting to watch quietly as Pan had once done. The Queen was pleasantly surprised with the amount of spirit Pan was showing. Up until that point, she had been mostly quiet and reserved, with only a hint of a spark underneath all of her quiet murmurings. She wasn't sure if Pan had been suffering from castle nerves before, if it was simply that her son could provoke these kind of animated reactions.
She had considered stopping them, but decided not to, noticing the faint traces of grins on the two faces. They were bantering, not arguing, and the difference was phenomenal. Indeed, when Bulma actually started to pay attention to the words being tossed back and forth, she discovered that the subject had changed to some kind of berries and the discussion of pie.
Her son's counter argument about soggy pie in milk was disturbed by the halt of the carriage and the immediate opening of its door.
"Milord, Ladies," the guard said promptly, holding out a hand should it be necessary for Bulma. The queen took it and stepped out.
There was a pause while the guard peered in, and Bulma, finding she was not being followed glanced back into the carriage as well. Trunks had leaned over and was talking quickly to Pan, who in turn was shaking her head. Finally he shrugged and moved to step out.
Bulma waited patiently for her son to hop out before offering a hand for Pan. Pan seemed much better after the ride back. The church was not far from the castle, and the time to muddle things through her head had obviously done her good.
Trunks was still holding her hand to her arm as they walked up to the front gates. They opened with two stewards looking curiously at the three that walked past the open doors. Bulma walked with purpose the short distance to the main hall before stopping and turning to speak with her son and Pan.
They looked at her with a certain amount of expectancy, Trunks concealing annoyance, and Pan her weary.
"You can't go in," she said finally. "Look at you two," she was smiling when she said it, and it only deepened as she watched them look down at themselves, Pan looking stricken and Trunks appearing unconcerned. His hair was slipping from its once perfect style, his boots had a wide ring of dust on them, his clothes disheveled and the faint scent of stable on his clothes from riding a horse into town. Likewise, Pan's own dress had slight infirmities to it. The hem was chopped and torn a bit near the back, as if she had been digging her feet into the material whilst being dragged, which was a very likely scenario. Her hair, like Trunks', had slipped, and her face was smudged with dirt.
There was no way that the prince could walk into the Ball looking as he was, and leading the lady at his side looking the way she did. Bulma shook her head again in regret.
"Your father would throttle you," she stated, almost as fact.
"He may very well if we don't show up for the Ball he arranged for me," her son pointed out blatantly.
"I all but ran to get that contract from him. He knows where you were. I don't think he expects you to return, at least not for a while. Go and clean up. It won't take long. Both of you."
Trunks sighed the sigh of a defeated child and turned to escort Pan. She was still looking at the ruined hem of her dress, picked and paid for entirely by herself.
"Pan… there are plenty of dresses from my mother or another Lady. We will find something that suites you just as well," he said comfortingly. Bulma watched as Pan shook her head slowly, letting the clenched fabric between her fingers fall.
"That's all right. I don't feel much like dancing now anyway."
"Pan-"
"I don't care if I promised. I'll come to the next Ball," Pan said quickly, somewhat angry. "But right now…" she trailed off. Bulma smiled sadly. She had half a mind to whisk the girl off to bed with a cup of warm milk. No one should be dragged away from their home. Unwillingly. To be married unwillingly on top of that.
Trunks seemed oblivious to how the past hours circumstances could have affected Pan, for he began at once to disagree with her.
"Pan, you promised now that you would dance, remember? Remember the sunburn? Remember your dress?"
"Yes. My dress. That is now ruined thanks to Keipher and his mandatory wedding. And thanks to Keipher, I almost got married. I want to throw up, your highness, so I don't think that any amount of dancing and crowds of people are going to help that feeling go away."
"Honestly," Bulma cut in, tired of the whole situation, and desperate not to see them quarrel. "Trunks, she's in no fit state to be twirling around. I don't know why's she's even on her feet."
"What? But… he didn't hurt you did he?" Trunks asked with an almost childlike naivety.
"Not all wounds are on the outside, dear," Bulma said, taking Pan lightly by the arm, mindful of the pressure she put remembering the grip Keipher had held her in.
The queen didn't know where her son went, but she knew that he wasn't following them for the time being.
"Don't mind him," she said off handedly. "It's not a lack of consideration on his part, just understanding." Pan shook her head with a small smile, and the queen did not worry that Pan had misinterpreted Trunks' manners as being cruel.
They walked in slow silence, giving Bulma the opportunity to study Pan when she was not shaking with a teacup. Glancing discreetly out of the corner of her eye, she felt that she was getting a stronger sense of the girl than the impression she had the day before.
For someone who had almost been married, of all things, to a horrible man in her eyes, she seemed quite calm and collected. There was strain in her posture and face, yes, but down right hysterics might not have been out of place in such a situation. Her hair was pulled, what once would have been tightly back, but now had single flyaway hairs and loose pins, leaving her eyes and their surroundings open and wide. She was blinking long lashes over dark eyes repeatedly, making Bulma wonder if she were fighting tears or if she was perhaps just tired.
She noticed with a small smile that Pan swung her arms ever so slightly as she walked; a habit that would never stand at the castle. She vaguely remembered how to swing her arms as a child, before it became improper for a young lady to do so.
Her steps were faltered, Bulma could note, by the dress she was wearing. It was obvious she was not accustomed to wearing trailing gowns, and although she wore one with grace, there was a slight trip to her walk that merely made it trail harder on the floor. She felt the need to tell Pan not to march as much as to glide, but resisted the urge on account there were far more pressing matters to discuss than walking tactics.
Bulma's conversation with her son earlier had been mulling over in her head since it was first spoken. The conversation where she had confronted him about Pan, and confirmed her thoughts on his feelings towards her. She thought that he hid it rather well, in truth, but she was his mother, and was expected to notice such things. And she did notice. The way he glanced at Pan when she wasn't looking, the way they both spoke to one another. The absolute lack of respect their words held which made them all the more respectful despite it all.
But it would not do for her son to love someone who did not love him back. And she had to make sure. She had to know, not just from intuition. She tightened her grip momentarily so that Pan paused and glanced up at her. They had stopped only once they reached her room, and Bulma held Pan out at arm's length, frowning slightly.
Pan's expression was one of curiosity and perhaps a bit of weary. Bulma did not waste time with pleasantries.
"I need to know what you think of my son, Ms Pan. I have noticed the way you two interact with each other, and if I said that it was any different than the King and I, I would be quite the liar. I want you to tell me what your feelings are towards him, only that I know he has had his head turned by you, and it would not be fair to lead him on so."
Pan's usual wide eyes were even wider, lips parted in brief shock.
"Majesty?"
"Please, it's not an extraordinary request. I just… do not want my son to get hurt by you. If you do not share his affections, do not let him pretend you do. And if you do… love him, perhaps… I will not interfere, though I would encourage you to tell him. I've never seen him this anxious before," she commented flippantly.
Bulma studied Pan's face, hoping with hope that Pan would indeed return her son's love. Because from what she had seem, they would be very good for each other. But when Pan replied, it was quite the opposite about her love.
"He doesn't love me," she said with a sad smile. Bulma frowned. Pan shrugged at the Queen's expression and fidgeted with her wrist, twisting a bangle of silver around it.
"Why doesn't he love you?"
"What? Does he have to?" Pan asked, dropping her hand. "I'm quite sure he tolerates me only because I confuse him." Bulma laughed.
"I'm sure you do, but… As a mother, I know. And I asked him." There was a part of her that felt a flush of guilt in admitting her son's secret to Pan. But he had not expressed her silence in the matter, and he would never know that it was her that had done it, for Pan would surely be too stubborn to tell Trunks where she heard such rumors of love.
"Your son said he loved me?"
"In so many words. That's why I don't want him being mislead. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Pan said softly, eyes downcast. "I think I do." She turned briskly and clutched the handle to her door.
"Do you love him, Pan?"
There was a silence in the hallway that stretched longer than the hall itself. Where Bulma stood attentively, her knees protesting as she leaned forward, prepared to catch any answer Pan might murmur. Pan herself did not look to be ready for answering, as her back was straight with the forced need for the image of security – control. Only her fingers splaying and clutching at her side translated how high on emotions she was and anything but in control. Finally she turned the knob to her door and opened it shyly. She spoke to the wooden door when she replied.
"I feel the same for him, as he does for me," Pan said quietly, hardly a whisper, but seemed to take much of her energy to announce such things. She sniffed awkwardly before she fled into her room like a tear-driven child.
Bulma did not have the heart to follow after her, instead making to find her husband and tell him of all that had happened. In her haste to reach the King, she did not catch the muffled shouts from Pan's room. Bulma walked assuming that Pan needed to turn events over in her head, to try and sort out how she felt for Trunks on her own. Alone.
But she was assuming Pan was alone in her room.
That assumption was wrong.
The room was cold. So very very cold.
But glancing down her arms were smooth and not freckled with goose flesh. It wasn't the room; it was her. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She would not give herself the pleasure of it. Her insides were freezing up and she deserved it.
The chair she was posed upon was velvet over feathers, but it could just have well been rotted wood for all the comfort it was offering her. She supposed her mind was creating the icy feel of the room, or perhaps her heart. She knew instinctively that the bed chambers of the prince would not be so uncomfortable and held at such a ghastly temperature.
If it were any other time she would have walked in here and been relaxed by the shades of blues and grays, but her knees were shaking and she was biting her lip in a habit that was picked up far too easily.
She knew Trunks was back.
She had been ordered to watch for his return and she had. She knew that the Queen had sent him to fix himself up before marching to the ball. And she knew that she was ordered here to meet him.
She knew what she had to do.
There was a bottle of wine cooling on the table; one glass poured and ready. The prince loved white wine and would drink it up, especially with his nerves so on edge. She stared at the glass as if it contained poison, which in all regards it did.
She had been surprised how well the love spell mixed in with the wine. She had thought, considering its fiery texture that it would not have dissolved. She had brought a bottle of red just in case, but it did not matter in the end.
She would have to offer the prince a drink when he came in. Discreetly. Oh so discreetly. She mustn't get caught or he wouldn't drink it. And then he would know.
Her master would know if Trunks hadn't been drugged by the spell. How would he not be able to, what with the prince's blatant love for Pan.
Which wasn't supposed to happen!
Trunks needed love, yes. But friendship would have done. A love spell could not work on someone who knows no love at all. And she hadn't been sure that was the case. So she had to… No. That was wrong. She hadn't known she was going to make a love spell. He had ordered it after she had sent him away.
She was lying to herself. She sent Trunks away to learn love, that was true. But why had she sent him to Pan? She knew Pan would change him. Knew that she would inspire something in the prince that would change all plans around. She had to have known he would fall in love with her. Did she pretend otherwise? Why was this love such a shock now?
She breathed in deeply, smelling the remnants of cinnamon and peppercorn; a somewhat unpleasant aroma not yet dispelled from the mixture. She wondered if he would be able to smell the spell like her, and not drink it.
He had to drink it. What if he didn't? She could not go against her master so obviously. Bending the rules she could do, but breaking them? She didn't have the strength with all the hold she was under. Didn't have the courage.
She had to marry Trunks, and a love spell to cancel the love he had for Pan was the only way to do it. She would become Queen and be able to influence the King as much as her master needed. To be second to the throne, and through her, her master would see that all his whims and wills would be done.
Her master wanted to rule the kingdom. And he chose the most clever and secret way to do it.
She drew in a shaky breath as she heard the bedroom door open. The spell swirled invisible in the glass on the table. If she didn't make Trunks drink it, she would be dead by her master's hand. She would die by that mistake. But if she did make him drink it, she would have to live with that mistake.
Even as the door opened, she wasn't sure which was worse.
"You sneak from behind."
"Yes. I didn't want to part the dancing," the Queen murmured, taking a seat by her husband from behind his chair. He glanced over with his dark eyes and twitched his lips in a pleasant greeting.
"I trust things worked themselves out?"
"Some," she said with a light shrug. "Your signature freed Pan, if that's what you mean."
"Is that not what you asked for?" Vegeta was now fully turned to her, arm rested lazily on the throne, fist supporting his chin. Bulma wrinkled her lip.
"Yes, of course, I just mean not everything is resolved. How could it be? Our son is in love with a girl who is as cryptic as our son's fiancée. Who seems to be missing at the moment, and who has her own hidden secrets that I don't know about. She got that bruise from somewhere, but heavens should I know."
"Our son loves who? And what bruise?"
"Pan. It's very obvious, Vegeta, really. She said she feels the same way for him, but coming from her I don't know what that means exactly. Didn't you notice the mark on her cheek?"
"Pan's?"
"No," she said with exasperation. "On… well… Trunks' fiancée. I need to find out her name. Remember that she knew where Trunks was, and she cast that spell on him, and… I just can't figure out what she's up to, other than rousing me up."
"Maybe that is what she's trying to do. Confusion is a powerful ally."
"I don't see what she would gain from that. She was already engaged to the prince. She could have done far more in a position of permanent power. Her actions-"
"Clearly are not her own."
"I beg your pardon?"
Vegeta shifted further, his elbow sliding on the arm rest. His eyebrows were raised while he patiently explained his thoughts to his wife. He was slouched in an awkward manner, but he looked anything but undignified in his posture. Bulma blinked suddenly at his closeness, forcing herself to focus on the words Vegeta was saying.
"Her actions are questionable, even to someone who's motives would be. Which makes me wonder if her actions were not influenced by someone else."
"The bruise?"
"Hn," Vegeta murmured noncommittally.
"But who has motive for doing those things? Lying, sneaking, sending Trunks away cursed…"
"I rather got the impression that she did the cursing all on her own."
"Then perhaps that is where the bruise came from." The king sighed, leaning to the side of his throne.
"You know it has to be someone who wants to be able to control the throne, indirectly through her of course. But… I haven't noticed anyone missing from court. And she hasn't talked to anyone that I've seen. I don't know who her friends are. I don't think I'd even heard about her until you betrothed them."
"On counsel."
"Pardon?"
"I betrothed them on counsel," he murmured, slowly sitting up straight, sliding to the edge of the throne. "It was on advice from a member that coincidently has been missing for the past few gatherings."
"Vegeta?" she gazed up at him, half-alarmed at the angry look her husband had as he stood up. "Where are you going?" she called as he began to march to a side exit.
"To find Koslin," he growled to her, pushing his way out, leaving a baffled crowd of dancers in his wake.
She closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool surface it offered her. She frowned into it, running her hand lightly through her pulled back hair. Pan was seriously beginning to loathe having to speak with the Queen. It seemed that every conversation revolved around her son, and she continually pestered her about her feelings towards him. And she knew her feelings well.
Did she love him? Yes. Yes she did. But it was impossible to love someone so soon and so quickly. Pan had to be reasonable about it. It simply wasn't feasible for her to love a man like the prince. What she felt when she looked at him, spoke to him and spent her time with him was love in its loveliest stage. The stage that could not last forever.
In due course, she would not love him anymore. At the moment, yes she loved him, but she knew that it was too soon to be anything but an infatuation. She had a passing love for the prince, and while it burned and ached now, she would not throw her life into a situation that would change soon enough.
Give it a week, a month, maybe a year or so, and she would forget Trunks and all she had loved about him. She couldn't possibly give her life away to a year of happiness. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. And the Queen was right – Trunks probably did love her. But he loved her the way she loved him, in a fleeting overwhelm of emotion. In a love that couldn't last.
She would not condemn them both. Her fingers clenched so her nails dug into her palms but she didn't care. She ignored the hitch in her breath as she turned her back to the door, thinking that if she could just make it to the bed, she could dream away her troubles. Her fingers had just reached around to the clasp of her dress, when a voice startled her.
"No need for a show, Miss Pan," the voice said. It was low but had a hidden squeak to it. A voice she had heard before.
She screamed when he stepped from the shadows but it died when his hand clamped over her mouth and her body slammed to the locked door. Pan held back a whimper, and gazed the room frantically.
The Queen had just left. Surely she would have heard the scream… surely she would come back to see what was the matter. But she was not coming back, and Koslin's harsh breath on her neck was reminding her more and more each second of what she was up against.
"What do you want?" she managed to wheeze out through her constrained throat. He seemed surprise by her calm and lack of hysterics.
"I wanted for my plans to go smoothly, Miss Pan. But you wouldn't allow that, would you? I wanted the throne, but oh no, couldn't have that. Because of you. I tried to deal with you peacefully, Miss Pan. Even worked on that idiot Keipher to take you away safely, but you just couldn't be satisfied with that either, could you? I worked so hard to provide you a happy ending. Convincing him to go to the King, working the King to signature his proposal. But alas. Really my dear, you bring this upon yourself."
"Bring what, exactly?" Pan asked, forcing her voice steady.
"Oh," Koslin said, looking properly surprised by the question, as if the answer were obvious. "Your death, of course."
Trunks shoved his bedroom door open, already kicking off his boots and unfastening his front coat. He felt a mad urge to stretch so hard that he cracked his back with a delightful pop and maybe throw in a wide yawn for good measure. He resisted though, at least until his stiff clothes were off. Such stretches were better while wearing merely your own skin.
He ran a hand through his hair batting away the lavender strands that hindered his vision. As his hand and hair fell away he stopped dead in his steps and stared at the side table. Someone was sitting obscurely in the shadows.
"Pan?" he asked uncertainly, seeing a trailing skirt in the candle light, but he was sure his Mother had taken her to her own room. Unless…
But the guest shifted the chair so the candles cast their light on her. He sighed, and warily walked to the table and sat down.
"It's you," he said calmly to his fiancée, who was looking at him like a sorrowful parent. "What are you doing here?"
"You stopped Pan's marriage," she said quietly.
"I did."
"You do love her," she continued, her sad expression deepening. Trunks fought a pitying look. She did not deserve pity for all she put him through, with her spells and meddling. But the emotion fell upon his face nonetheless as she fiddled calmly with a wine glass in front of her.
"Yes," he admitted, surprising himself, more than her. His jaw hung for a moment before he slapped it shut and swallowed loudly. His eyes burned and knees seemed to itch, and he was struck by the fear that she had bewitched this discomfort on him for admitting love. He swallowed again before looking at her.
She was smiling a little, her eyes down cast.
"I wish you didn't, but I suppose I brought this upon myself. Or yourself, I could say," she smiled wider, a false smile to try and laugh at her joke.
"You were the one that was dying for me to admit it."
"That doesn't mean I like it! Why? Why did you fall in love with her? Don't you know how cruel this is!" she demanded, in a voice that chased away all other quiets. Trunks frowned deeply at her.
"How cruel what is? How cruel making me invisible was? How cruel sending me from home was? What exactly is cruel?"
"Making me do this!" she yelled back, her voice breaking. He gestured his arms in a wide circle.
"Making you do what?" he asked in exasperation. They looked at each other, him waiting for a response, and she formulating one. Her chest was rising quickly with her breath and her eyes darted around the room. Suddenly she stopped her frantic look of panic and frowned. She shook her head, looking towards him.
"Nothing. No one is making me do anything. I won't do it," she said with a wavering voice, eyes darting to the bottle of wine. "I'm sorry," she murmured, standing up to go and making a grab for the poured wine glass.
The prince grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. The glass slipped and teetered but stopped steady on the table – still full.
"I don't understand you at all. You demand that I love but then are upset when I do. What is it that you want here?" he demanded.
"I want… I want freedom. I thought once I could find it in you, but I think now… I think now I must find it on my own. I'm not sorry for what I did, but am for the way I was. Be with your Pan, Trunks."
Trunks shook his head and sighed.
"I still don't understand you at all. What is going on? You're not making sense."
"You were never meant to know," she said quietly and rose once again. Trunks let her go this time, feeling a headache creeping on his mind. Rubbing his temples he reached for the glass of wine. He did not hear his fiancée halt at the door and spin around. He did not notice her dash back to the table, an odd terror on her face.
He could not miss when she drew back and struck the glass out of his hand. He choked a bit with startle, wiping the last drops of wine from his mouth with the back of his hand.
The glass lay shattered on the floor. Completely empty.
Obviously this is not the last chapter, as some thought with chapter 28. I'll say here, there is one more chapter (30) and then an epilogue, as far as I can tell. Wah, the end is in sight.
Angel Eevee