Bardock shifted on his feet uncomfortably as he mentally rehearsed his petition. Normally, he would not be so nervous before the King, but the events of four days ago combined with the uncomfortable cut of his best bodysuit had him off-balance. And the knowledge that he was asking the King to violate all custom and law for a mere slave was weighing heavily on his mind.
No, not a mere slave, Bardock thought, his heart filled with an emotion unfamiliar to a Saiyan: guilt. Bulma had been the best scientist he had ever known; though he could not tell it to any Saiyan, everyone in the lab had known. She was brilliant.
She had been brilliant. And he had failed her, failed to protect her.
He grimaced as guilt that was almost painful stabbed him again before he pushed the feeling aside. He was here to redress that guilt, not dwell on it. And the King bloody well owed him a favor.
Bardock's eyes closed as he remembered that night less than four days ago, when the call had come late in the night to come to the palace immediately, that the King was ill. He had flown as fast as he could, racing to his liege's side…
King Vegeta was thrashing in his bed, his sweating body pale and cold. Tears raced down the royal cheeks as Bardock grabbed his liege's hand, feeling for the pulse below the thumb. It was thready and weak, and Bardock realized that his King was dying. But how? His Majesty was the strongest Saiyan ever, the Legendary. What could bring him down in the prime of his life?
Bardock's eyes widened as he realized the only thing that could cause this premature death. "Find the Queen!" he shouted at the guards, one of whom dashed out of the room without hesitation. Bardock turned back to the bed, his hand fumbling for his communicator. If the Queen could be found and saved, then the King would have a better chance of recovery. But Bardock would need special equipment for this, and Bulma was in the lab tonight. She could have it here quickly.
"Bulma," he clicked the communicator. "Pick up; I need you to bring something to the palace. Hurry and pick up!"
"She's isn't there," King Vegeta gasped weakly. "She's gone, and I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. I always realize too late with her." He broke into a weak cackle.
"Rest, your Highness," Bardock murmured, the King's words rambling babble to the scientist. "I'll have medicine here for you soon." He thumbed the communicator again. "Bulma, answer me now!"
"Even now, I don't regret bonding her," Vegeta whispered, his eyes staring emptily at the ceiling. "But I'm sorry that I did it to her. I loved her, but not more than my crown; I denied our bond. What kind of man does that make me?" A sudden tremor wracked his body, and the King convulsed. Bardock helped hold him down, his anger at Bulma growing. Why was she ignoring his call? The communicator was grafted into her hand; she couldn't turn it off or adjust the volume. What was she up to?
When the convulsions passed, he grabbed his communicator again and switched channels. "Towton, pick up!"
His Saiyan lab assistant picked up immediately, his voice thick with sleep. Bardock barked out what he needed from the lab, praying that the short man would be quick enough. If Bulma's laziness cost the King his life, Bardock would beat her himself, despite his earlier praises for her.
The Queen swept into the room, her night robe billowing out behind the dark queen like wings, and Bulma was put out of the third-class's mind. Her Majesty was completely uninjured and Bardock gaped at her, unable to hide his surprise. As weak as the King was, he would have said that his bond-mate was dying or dead herself. But there she was, stalking toward the bed, her strange, unsettling eyes sweeping over the sick King. "Vegeta?" she murmured, her face concerned. Bardock was glad that she was preoccupied with the King's well-being; he did not want her to ask him why he was staring.
"Get away from me," Vegeta snarled, his voice cold and cruel. "If I die, I want to die without you hanging over me like a black cloud."
The Queen's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "So your betrayal catches up with you at last," she hissed, snatching her robes shut as if they could protect her from the King. "You suffer, and even now when you are so weak you can't feed yourself, you embarrass me! Me who has done nothing but suffer shame and loss for you!"
"Guards!" Vegeta summoned the energy to scream. "Get this woman out of here."
"I hope that harlot drags you into Oblivion with her soul!" the Queen growled with as much dignity as she could conjure. The guards had moved toward her, but she ignored them, sweeping out of the room as if they were escorting her instead of extracting her. The Prince and the Princess were in the doorway watching with wide eyes; the Queen gathered them to her with a sharp gesture. Vegeta's daughter followed without a backwards glance at her dying father; the Prince hesitated but finally left with his mother.
As the King sank wearily onto his bed, Bardock finally remembered to close his mouth, his teeth snapping shut with a click. From what had been said, there was only one explanation, but could he believe it?
He stared down at the weak King, working through the facts to the only possible conclusion. The King was not – had not been – bonded to the Queen, but to another woman, a woman who had died tonight. Anger roared through Bardock again, but this time, it was directed at his King. How could he risk the throne this way? How could the King allow Prince Vegeta to be named heir when he was not born from a bond-mating, but from a mere coupling? The entire reason to risk binding your soul to another's was to take advantage of the gods' gift to the Saiyans, to be assured that any children born of that union would have the best possible traits from both parents. A child from a coupling had no such assurances, and got all his or her genes by circumstance, not divine gift. Bardock paled as he realized that the prince-heir was not the perfect combination of his parents, but a haphazard mixture of genetics. That was a weakness which the Empire could not afford; worse, the true bond-child of the King was somewhere on the planet, as bond-matings always produced at least one child. Was that child older than Prince Vegeta? With the royal family's legacy from the gods, if the child was older, it was surely male, which meant that the true prince-heir was unknown and unnamed.
Bardock quickly shook his thoughts away. The best way to deal with this disastrous problem was to save the King's life so that worries about ascension could be put off for another day. As if the King was trying to spite him, his heart stopped at that moment. With a gasp, Bardock straddled the King's lower body, planting the ball of his hand on the King's ribs. Desperately, he pounded out a steady rhythm, forcing the King's heart to beat, forcing him to live.
It seemed years that Bardock struggled there, compelling blood to move throughout his Lord's body, powering air into his lungs. Towton's arrival was so sudden that Bardock almost lost the life-rhythm; he managed to continue and bark out the needed medicine in the needed doses. Towton handed him the prepared syringe and Bardock slammed it into the King's chest, the thick needle piercing the sternum to empty into his heart.
The result was immediate and spectacular. The King sat up, knocking Bardock backwards across the room, and powered up to Super-Saiyan. The metal needle in his chest boiled away from the heat; the plastic syringe shattered from the pressure.
In the end, the King had been grateful; he had not wanted to die. Not everyone caught in a bond-mate's death wanted to die as well, but it was often unavoidable. Bardock was sure that the King was alive only because he was so incredibly powerful.
"Bardock, Third-class," the Court Caller's voice cut through Bardock's memory, and he shook himself out of the reverie. He quickly stepped out of the crowd of court petitioners, and moved to the center of the open area before the throne. He swiftly dropped to his knees, then folded his hands between his legs and pressed his forehead to the floor. It was the proper position to assume when one came begging favors from the King, but even the knowledge that it was the proper thing to do could not stop the spurt of shame and irritation that ran up his spine. He might be a third-class scientist, but he was still a Saiyan. It irritated any warrior to snivel on the ground like a cropo begging for scraps of food.
He had barely settled into position when King Vegeta's voice rumbled out. "Rise Bardock," his voice rang solidly in the massive chamber; the harmonics of the room favored those on the dais. Bardock was a touch surprised, but also pleased. Usually the King forced petitioners to remain in that position for several seconds. To be called to his feet so quickly meant the King was pleased with him, and would be far more likely to grant his request.
Bardock swiftly rose and faced the King and Queen. The King was slouched in his chair, as he normally was, as if Court was too boring to occupy the King's full attention. But Bardock would be the first to say that that was all a ruse on the King's part – he paid close attention to the ebbs and swells of court politics. Any King who wished to rule for any amount of time kept a close eye on his nobles. The Queen was sitting straight and stiff in her own, slightly smaller chair.
"You have served me well, and my father before me," King Vegeta continued, ignoring the rustling and murmuring from the assembled courtesans. Vegeta was probably used to the awkward and somewhat scandalized reaction to any mention of his father, but his subjects weren't still weren't; Bardock himself was uncomfortable with the thought of the former king, even after eighteen years. "There is no need to plead for a favor from us."
The Queen's stony expression clearly said that she didn't agree, but given that Bardock's service had revealed her shame to people outside the family, and to a third-class at that, Bardock didn't expect her to be happy about the King granting his request. He eyed the dark-skinned Montessi, wondering again why the King had chosen this woman from the savages of the mountains as his mate. He realized with a frown, perhaps he hadn't chosen her as his mate, and that was the problem. What if she had been selected to distract people from rumors of a secret mate?