Consciousness came back in a rush to the young Prince Vegeta, but he didn't move or allow himself to give any indication that he was aware. Partially, it was a self-test, but mostly, he didn't want to face anyone, even Avia, who would be in the room with him. Instead, he needed time to come to prepare himself for what was coming: the shame at dinner as all the other nobles sneered silently at him for losing consciousness after two slaps; unwelcome pity from his sister, and his mother, too, if she were here; and the worse, his father coldly ignoring him, punishing him for being weak by pretending he wasn't there at all, that he didn't exist.
"He's going to kill him someday," Avia's voice carried softly, soothing to his ears. His wonderful sister who loved him despite everything; despite his parentage and despite the way that desert Saiyans treated one another and he sometimes treated her. In the savage mountains, all worked together, or so his mother had told him time and time again. "The Montessi are strong in their unity, which was different from the desert way – fight or suffer, win or die, trust no one." Sometimes, he wondered which he was, but he loved his sister and mother so much that he knew in his heart he was Montessi.
"Hush," his mother's voice carried sharply in the room, her native accent marking her as Montessi even if her appearance was unseen. Sometimes, he heard it in Avia's voice, but she had long ago hidden for self-preservation. Sometimes, he hated that sharp dialect, but never for long – it was the voice that had to comforted him when he was a baby.
An imperfect, genetically disarrayed baby; he knew that his parents weren't bonded now or ever. He had always suspected that they weren't – after all, if he were perfect, the way that he was supposed to be, he would be a Legendary by now, instead of an embarrassment.
But worse, he knew that he wasn't the true-heir to the crown. That honor was reserved for the child born to his father's bond-mate, an unknown half-brother or sister somewhere on Vegeta-sei. Someday, they would come to claim the crown, and he would be cast out, alone, his shame revealed to all.
What would he do? All his life, he had trained to be the King someday, only to discover that he was an illegitimate brat, an unknowing usurper. But it was all that he had ever known; maybe it would be better if his father killed him.
Avia laid her hand on his forehead unexpectedly, and Vegeta flinched. "Vegeta?" his sister murmured, and he heard his mother rise and move toward him. Great, I can't even pretend to be unconscious right, he thought angrily.
With the superb acting skills that came with learning court politics, Vegeta allowed his eyes to flutter open slowly. "What happened?" he mumbled, putting a hand to his head as he lifted it off the pillow. Almost immediately, pain lanced through his skull – Father had really pounded him this time. He dropped his head with a grunt, but now that the pain had started, it didn't want to stop.
"Vegeta, are you alright?" his mother asked softly, sitting down next to him on the bed.
Forcing the pain back, Vegeta lied smoothly, "Yes, Mother, fine. How is Father?"
His mother sighed and rubbed his stomach gently before answering, "Fine as he can be." She gave him a sad, tight smile as she laid a cold washcloth on his forehead, the coolness soothing. Her other hand ran gently through his hair, smoothing it back from his face.
To Vegeta's horror, the comfort from his mother dismantled his resolve, and he blurted, "Father and you aren't bonded, are you?"
Cyrane hesitated, then shook her head quietly.
"Then I'm not the Prince, am I?" Vegeta asked, hiding most of the quiver in his voice.
"Your father has named you heir," his mother replied, her voice firm. "You are his only son."
"But if he bonded to someone else--"
Cyrane took both of his hands in hers. "Your father named you; there will never be any other found to be named. Do you understand?"
"I concur," Avia said, nodding her head resolutely. "You're the only heir."
"And once you defeat him, there won't be a chance for another person to make claim," his mother continued. "After all, I am the strongest woman; your father, the strongest Saiyan ever. No one else will be able to beat you once you become a Legendary."
If I become a Legendary, Vegeta thought glumly.
* * *
Trunks hadn't been sure what being an attendant would entail, but he was sure that it wouldn't be boring. He had been so wrong.
He stood still behind Lord Vegeta's chair in the dining hall, waiting for someone to ask him to do something, anything. At least before arriving at dinner, he had had to care for his grandfather, helping him select clothing and put it on. Worse, he hadn't had time to eat, and the smell of the food was driving him crazy. The noise of fifty or so Saiyan nobles idly chatting and dining was giving him a headache. He couldn't even mentally distract himself, in case someone wanted something from him.
Screw it, he finally thought, and collected his thoughts, pushing them away from the center of his mind. As he did so, the din of the room faded, through he kept himself alerted for anyone calling his name. In the open area that he had created in his mind, he allowed himself to collect a bit of ki – not enough to do anything with really, just enough to reach out with and sense other ki.
In the darkness of his mind, he began to see flames grow from the blackness. He slide his eyes open a touch; while keeping his eyes open made concentrating more difficult, it also meant that he could match the flames to people easily. Had he been sensing one or two people, he wouldn't have needed to visually match them, but with the hundred or so in this room, it was necessary until he could learn their ki signatures.
Most of the flames were small, or in the case of the slaves, glowing embers that barely lit up the darkness. All of the nobles were a bright candle flame, and a few were more noticeable. In particular, there were seven people in the room who were bonfires to the others' candles.
A bald noble whose name he did not know was sitting next to Avia. While size was usually not an indication of power, this man was heads and shoulders over everyone else, as if the ki that burned inside of him had inflated him. Avia burned bright, but she was dwarfed by the man next to her. Prince Vegeta was also dwarfed by the bald man, but Saiyans were known to grow more powerful as they aged, and this bald fellow was older than most of the people at the table. Perhaps his siblings could increase their ki in the years to come and would overwhelm the man eventually.
Lord Vegeta was too a bonfire, stronger than the bald man even, but he was in turn dwarfed by Queen Cyrane. She burned brilliantly at her mate's side, but she was a speck of light compared to King Vegeta. If the others were bonfires, then he was a raging firestorm, roaring and spinning with fiery power.
But it was interesting for Trunks to note that the seventh bonfire in the room was himself. He was more powerful than anyone, save his father. He was, by all accounting, the second most powerful person on the planet.
The irony was painful.
* * *
King Vegeta sighed and rolled out of bed, walking over to the balcony. Something had changed today. His father had arrived at dinner for the first time in years, his son had been spying on him, and that woman's child had shown up.
"Bulma," he whispered, leaning his head against the rail of the balcony. It felt good to say the forbidden name. On some level, he always believed that he would break down and secret her into the palace, even after she had had a human child. But he had needed an heir, and then after Vegeta had been born the time had never seemed right, and then there had been no time at all. With a sigh, he tilted his head back to watch the stars, trying not to feel lonely.
Now, all he had was the future; Bulma was dead and gone, and he had no desire for vengeance as it wouldn't bring her back. Her human son was unimportant to him; he wasn't sure why he was letting the slave stay in the palace, but it had made Cyrane happy, and, in truth, it was the least he could do for her. But now it was time to build the future; maybe, he mused, there was time to repair the rift between himself and Cyrane. Maybe they could bond, and produce a true heir for Vegeta-sei.
"I love you, Bulma," he whispered, "but you're gone, and I have to move on. I have to go on."
As he crawled back into bed, he continued to tell himself that. With enough time and repetition, he could come to believe it. He didn't bother to consider that he had used the present tense when he spoke of his love for her. That fact was unimportant, as unimportant as her son.
* * *
Avia lay on her back, her eyes closed as she ran her fingers over her belly. It was an oddly comforting gesture, a reminder from childhood of when her mother used to rub her stomach to calm her and put her to sleep. "Trunks," she said, enjoying the sound of the name in the darkness.
The slave had never been far from her thoughts all evening. She had seen him briefly at dinner, standing behind Lord Vegeta, silent and watchful. She could still feel his hand in her hair, rubbing gently at her scalp.
She had never understood the desire of the Saiyans to tolerate slavery. But she could understand some of it at this moment; under the current rules, she could order Trunks into her bed. But she didn't want that at the same time – for the first time, she had found a man that she wanted to actively pursue, wanted to win.
Even if he was a slave and a non-Saiyan.
* * *
Trunks lay awake for a long time, trying to sleep. Too much had happened today – meeting his half-brother, half-sister, grandfather and father, coming to the palace, and leaving home. "Calm down, kid," he muttered to himself, using the same tonal inflections that his mom would have used. But that only made him feel both homesick and lonelier than ever.
With a violent grunt, he flipped onto his side, trying to find a comfortable place to sleep. The mattress and room were unfamiliar, and he wasn't used to the noise of his grandfather sleeping in the next room. Sleep came eventually, but what little he got was invaded by wild dreams of beings glowing like the sun and flashing golden eyes from dark shadows.