"Please." She kissed him roughly, her hands up on his face. "Words can wait."
He nodded knowingly and pulled her close.
Finally, he thought, his lips pressed to her warm skin. But she still didn't know…
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The arrival of King Frieza was extravagant, to say the least. In a carriage trimmed in gold and laced in silk and velvet, he rode in, his figure concealed behind a curtain of midnight black. Only when he was beyond the castle walls, did he draw the curtain back and allow the lords and ladies to see him in all his glory.
His son was not there to greet him.
"My lord," said a lady in green velvet as the carriage slowed. "What an unexpected surprise. I hope it is that you missed your kingdom that you are home so early."
"Yes, milady," he said, his voice low and soft. "It is always so dreadful to be away for so long." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and turned away. The carriage moved on. "I shall not forget her face," he said to himself, making a mental note of her lustrous brown curls and soft green eyes.
"I can find out her name, my lord," said the driver, bringing the carriage to a halt just before the palace. "I see her many times in the village."
"Very good, Ryobe." He pulled a bag of coins from his carrying sack and dropped them on the seat, then exited the cabin. His insolent son would be in the castle, no doubt, his bride crushed against him. He wondered how long it took him to get the fiery little fox into bed. Surely she has not let him touch her for some time. Or maybe at all. Perhaps Vegeta was cavorting around the city, at this very moment, in search of any woman with a beautiful face and a desperate need for money.
The king laughed softly to himself. It would be so fitting for the ingrate to have to search for pleasure. Ah, what justice it was when he told him who his bride would be. The horror in his eyes had been priceless. Oh, to see that look again.
"Ryobe," Frieza called over his shoulder, his long white hair brushing his face. But he was not old by any means. "Inform my son and his stunning wife that I am requesting their presence in the throne room. Have a maid prepare some tea for the lady. And make sure it is done in haste."
The coach nodded and bowed deeply. The stable boy would take care of the horses and carriage.
"Oh, one more thing, my good man," the king said, slipping a few more gold coins into Ryobe's large pockets. "Be sure to tell my beautiful daughter-in-law that she need not primp herself in my presence. I wish to see her true face, not some mask of white paste."
"Very well, my lord." He hurried up the steps and through the massive doorway. King Frieza followed slowly, taking each step almost carefully.
"I wonder," he whispered to himself, his hand on the doorframe.
"Yes, my lord?" came the familiar voice of his personal servant, Goro.
"Nothing, Goro," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was only thinking aloud."
"Of course, my lord. Is there anything I can assist you with?"
"No. Thank you, Goro. You have my permission to take your leave now."
"Thank you, sir. And welcome home."
"Yes, I have so missed my kingdom…and my son."
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Bulma eyed her reflection almost suspiciously, tilting her head to the side, her fingers wound tight around the spare piece of ribbon she held.
"Are you certain?" she asked, sitting back.
"Yes, very certain," her temporary maid said. Aneko would arrive within the week. "Ryobe said you must not wear your white make-up to be presented to the king. He wishes to see your real skin, milady."
Bulma frowned softly. Was she acceptable like this? Was she beautiful? Would the king think her hideous and demand she return to her room and make herself up? Vegeta certainly had no problem with her clean face. She smiled at the mere thought of him, her cheeks burning red. She hadn't known she could experience such pleasure with anyone but Eizo. Vegeta had certainly proved that wrong the night before; her mind was still reeling from it. But could there be something deeper for her with this new man? Could she find with him what she had not with Eizo? Or was she doomed to never have what no royals had?
"What makes you blush, milady?" her maid asked, leaning closer. "You have the most beautiful face I have seen. Surely you are not embarrassed to go out this way."
"No, not anymore," she said, setting the ribbon on her dressing table. She stood and nodded at her maid, giving her silent permission to leave. She would wait here for her husband, as was expected. But she wanted to be alone when he arrived.
Bulma found her stationary and a fresh bottle of ink on the bureau across the room. Should she write now to Eizo and explain her husband's decree? She didn't know how long he would be, and certainly he shouldn't see the words she meant to write her former lover.
"Former lover," she whispered, lifting the quill pen. That was all Eizo was and could be now. An acquaintance she would only see at balls and other such royal functions. But her lover? Her friend? No, not even that, for the old emotions would surface and he would be in great danger. She doubted not her husband's power and feared his anger to a certain degree. If she had to sever her bond with Eizo to ensure his survival, then so be it. It was a price she was willing to pay, for who deserved a crown more than her belovéd Eizo? For so many years he'd lectured her passionately, spilling his heart and his mind. There was so much he had planned for his future kingdom; the things he wanted to do just so his people could live and eat well. History would remember him maybe as Eizo the Great, Eizo the Generous, or perhaps Eizo the True King. Whole books would be written about him; future kings would follow his example and aspire to be but a fraction like him. And he would be loved. And in the end, that was the greatest thing for him.
It was time for her to say good-bye.
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Quickly, she re-read the letter then folded it neatly. She poured hot wax to seal it, then stamped it with the appropriate symbol. Eizo would know it was from her immediately. He would tear it open, his eyes shining, and read the words she had written and chosen so carefully. And then he would fold it back up, slip it into his royal robe, and pretend until he was alone that the words had not shattered his soul.
To My Belovéd and Cherished Lover,
I miss you so, as I am sure I am missed by you. And while I treasure our time together and count the seconds until I shall see you again, I dread the future and all it holds. It has been brought to the attention of my husband, though by whom I am unsure, that his good wife is unfaithful and lies regularly in the arms of another man. When confronted with these obvious truths, I was shocked and afraid and struggled to hold my head high. I did not, as one would assume, deny the adulterous acts. I could not have lived in this palace; I could not face my own husband, if I had attempted to deny such wonderful truths. And I could not face you either, for denying our couplings would be to deny a part of myself. I regret not the time we spent together, but the rashness in which we spent it. We were not careful, so heavy was our passion, and now we shall pay for our misdeeds.
Forgive me, my love, that I must write these words and know full well the pains I have delivered. If there were any way I could see that we could be together in secret, I would arrange it and this letter may have been an invitation into my arms. That is not the case, however, and so with a wounded soul and a sour disposition, I leave you forever. I beg you, do not think it is my intention to injure you! I aim to save you and the life you shall have with a good and loving queen. Yours will be a story told for millennia to come; your name will be on the lips of the future, and your people will love you ad infinitum.
I will always carry with me the memories of you and I. I shall never forget your face and the joy you have given me. You will always be in my heart, good Prince, but never again my lover, and never again my friend. Our correspondences must not continue, and if we do meet again in the distant future, we should regard one another as honorable royals and fair acquaintances, though nothing more. The past we shared must be mute on our lips. We shall dance, and compliment, and laugh. We shall smile and nod to one another across a crowded room. And we shall hide forever the deep and cruel pain that lies at the core of our souls. For the future we shall do these things, and for the past we shall cry alone and silently.
Never, even for a moment, think that I have forgotten you and do not love you with all I possess. That is as impossible as traveling through the past to forge a new path for our lives that would undo all this hurt and suffering. It is on this somber note that I must end this final letter. Would that I could pour my entire heart out in brilliant symbols, stretching on for miles and filling you, if only for a moment, with the most luscious happiness. Please, be content in knowing that we both suffer, and that we both must carry on for the sake of our kingdoms.
I do not doubt that you will be the grandest king the world has ever known.
With Memories In My Heart,
Your Sorrowful Princess,
Bulma
Just as the door began to creak open, Bulma tucked the letter between a stack of books and straightened herself up. It was Yukio, in a robe of midnight black, and a blue velvet cape draped over his broad shoulders. There was a deep frown on his lips and he would not look her directly in the eye.
"Is there a problem, my lord?" she asked, approaching him slowly. How divinely seductive he looked in his finery. She envisioned herself removing his clothing layer by layer, with agonizing slowness, until he could stand it no longer and ripped the garments from his body. It brought a small lustful smile to her lips.
"You know of the king's request, woman," he snapped, lifting his eyes. "To him I owe all my distain."
Bulma bowed her head and nodded. It was then that Yukio stepped forward and lifted her chin with his finger.
"You wear no make-up for the king?" he asked, as if offended, though his voice only showed her acute curiosity.
"He has requested it, my lord. I did not wish to upset him."
"Of course," he sighed, dropping his hand. He leaned in, their lips almost touching, and then turned away. Would she ever be able to know the constant turmoil that coursed through his veins? If only there were some simple and painless way in which to tell her. But now was not the time.
Suddenly he felt her small arms around him, her cheek pressed against his back. He raised his hand to grasp her arm, to hold it firmly. But he pulled it away instead and walked out into the hall. She followed, as was her decree, but kept a noticeable distance. It was plain to her now that he harbored some terrible remembrances, and that if she tried to push him to speak she may lose him forever. And it occurred to her suddenly, that it would upset her greatly if she should lose him in any way. But surely this was not the love she had heard so much about from her devoted nurse, Aneko. She hardly knew her husband. But, at the same time, she could not deny the strong and definite connection that they shared.
Yukio stopped abruptly at a set of doors Bulma had passed several times though never entered. The guards outside nodded respectfully at the couple, then granted them entrance. Yukio quickly pulled Bulma close to him as they approached the elevated thrones. The king resembled no image Bulma had formed in her mind of what he could look like. He was far too young, certainly, to be the father of her husband. His brilliant white hair was obviously premature, though it gave him a stunning grace that few royals possessed. She could not see what angered Yukio so about this man.
"Ah, my Kami," King Frieza whispered, rising to greet his son and daughter-in-law. "Why, my dear princess, you are more lovely than any painting I have seen. May I say that?"
"Of course, my lord," Bulma said sweetly, bowing her head in reverence. Yukio still clutched her arm, as if letting go would somehow weaken him in the presence of his father. "And may I say that you look far too young to have fathered a son of Yukio's age."
The king smiled warmly and extended his hand to Bulma. She pulled her arm free from her husband and clasped her father-in-law's hand. Instantly she was pressed against him, in a strong and almost urgent embrace. She wondered vaguely what means he implored to seek his own pleasurable release. And what had become of the queen that was Yukio's mother? She dared not ask so soon in her relationships with these new royals.
"Your affection surprises me, my lord," she said as he released her.
"Forgive my forwardness," he said, bowing his head slightly.
"No, no. I meant it with kindness. Forgive my tone."
Behind them, Yukio scoffed.
"Welcome home father," he said crossly, crossing his large arms over his muscular chest. "The kingdom has missed you."
"But not my own son?" the king asked, his embittered voice betraying the benevolence he had displayed for Bulma's sake. He stepped forward and leaned close to Yukio's ear. "And what have you been doing in my absence, my son? Buying whore upon whore with the purse I gave you?" The words were not meant to be heard by the princess, but the aggression of his voice would not permit his volume to lower to the pitch he desired.
"My desire, father," Yukio sneered, keeping his voice respectfully low, though he knew Bulma could hear quite clearly, "is fulfilled most perfectly by my wife and by no other. With any luck, I shall have an heir by next thaw."
The king took a step back and sighed. Bulma could almost feel the intensity of their anger; it seemed to radiate off of them as if it were precious heat on a cold winter night. And she almost shivered, but then managed to compose herself and give a little cough to catch their attention.
"The tea has arrived, my lords," she said, unable to conceal her little smile. She motioned to the maid who bustled into the room, her large silver tray heavy with the kettle and teacups and small bite-sized cakes the monarchs so love. King Frieza approached the fidgety young girl, guiding her to the appropriate table. She seemed afraid of this man, who had displayed nothing but pure gentleness to Bulma. Of course there was the obvious and deep malice towards his son, but she possessed that as well with her own guardian. She would have to see what developed in the future, for as of this moment, she saw herself loving her new king like a father.
"Nyoko, my dear," the king said, extending his arm to her. She took his hand and allowed him to seat her at the table. The maid, eyeing the group of them with nothing short of suspicion, poured their tea and served their cakes, then shuffled quickly out of the expansive high-ceilinged room.
Bulma lifted her cup with dainty fingers, taking a small sip of the steaming liquid. When she had first arrived here she feared her life would be permanently disrupted and morphed into something hideous and altogether wrong. Last night, in the arms of her husband, her breathing heavy and her brow moist with sweat, she pondered that maybe her first assumption had been terribly wrong. Now, as she sat at this tea table, her husband to her right and her king to her left, her mind swirled and meshed the two possibilities together until she could recognize neither and her head throbbed.
"Will you please excuse me gentlemen?" she said, rising, her palm pressed against her forehead. "I suddenly feel faint. I must lie down before supper." The king rose, as was proper, and kissed her hand tenderly. Yukio stayed seated, his miniscule meal untouched.
"Of course, my dear," Frieza said. "I'm sure your husband would escort to your chamber."
"No, that is not ne—"
"It is an utmost necessity," Yukio said. He stood and gripped Bulma's arm almost firmly. "Come, lady." Before she could bid her father-in-law farewell, she was already in the hall, her husband practically dragging her along. It was now, more than ever, that she knew she should fear this man. But in her soul, she believed she would love him more than anything. And for that she was forever grateful.
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Eizo skirted the walls, taking great strides towards the front hall. When the door opened and the servant backed in carrying an armload of letters and packages, he nearly threw himself at him, demanding that the servant hand over anything addressed to him immediately. He had not meant to be so harsh, but it had been four days since he'd heard from his secret lover.
Carefully, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. What a blessing it was to simply see her writing on that paper. And then he absorbed the meaning of the words. He stumbled backwards, nearly knocking into a passing servant. He found the nearest wall and leaned into it, least he fall and cause an uproar in a palace that was already slowly crumbling. First his lovely sister lost her bridegroom-to-be, and now, having read the contents of the letter, he was doomed to endure an equally agonizing fate.
Selfishly, his first thought was what Tadao's first and final thought had been; an end to the pain and sadness. But, as his eyes scanned the paper once more, he could not ignore her last statement, that was more of a wish and a plea: "I do not doubt that you will be the grandest king the world has ever known."
He shoved the letter into his robe and took a deep breath. For her he would press on and do his utmost to fulfill her prophecy. But, for the sake of sorrow, he would never get rid of her letter and the pain it brought with it.
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Vegeta paced the length of their chamber, his wife sitting idly on the edge of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she awaited his words. Two days before, after their tea with the king, he had informed her that very soon he would need to discuss something important with her. It was more than obvious that that's what he had brought her in here for. Secretly, however, she wished he would use no words as he had two days before, and they ended up in a tangle of blankets and limbs. Simply the thought of it made her warm, but then her thoughts drifted towards her old life and the old lover she had left behind. Surely he had received her letter by now.
She sighed deeply and stood, pausing her husband mid-stride.
"Tell me what is on your mind, lord," she said. It occurred to her then that she had never once called her husband by his name. It seemed an improper thing, though she knew it was not. And then she realized that he had never called her her supposed name either.
"I know things about you that you would never guess," he said, wanting to grab her and hold her close. Instead, he turned away and took a seat at the desk. "So much you have not a clue about and I am ordered not to tell you."
Bulma's brow furrowed and she eased herself back onto the bed. What could he possibly know? Had she guessed correctly when she said she'd been captured by an enemy family? Could his father have had some hand in it? She frowned deeper at such a wild and callous thought. King Frieza was a kind and gentle man to her. He would not have done such an atrocious deed.
"If I cannot know, then why bring it up?" she inquired, keeping her eyes low. She did not want to see sadness if that's what his face showed; and she did not want to see the usual anger, either. Rather she would pretend he was content and placid.
"Why do you make me want to harm you?" he sighed, leaning back in the chair. Bulma chanced a glance at him and regretted it immediately. The fiery anger in his eyes burned as fiercely as ever. She wondered how she was supposed to come to love a man who was never the same each day, who drove to hurt her intentionally, while at the same time he could be the most tender man she would ever know. "I will speak when I choose to speak," he snapped, startling her slightly. She unfolded her hands and placed them at her sides, as if she meant to push herself up and run away at any moment. "Be the obedient wife everyone expects you to be."
"I have been patient with you from the beginning," Bulma suddenly said, her voice hard and angry. How dare he speak to her that way! "But now it seems your true self shines through and I am heartbroken to learn how cruel and irregular you really are. My lord you are not if you continue to treat me like a piece of auction-able property. I am your wife, sir! Your queen, and as such I demand respect as readily as you do!" She was standing again, her fists clenched at her sides. Her face was warm with fury, and it felt all the more stifling under her mask of make-up. Feverishly, she wiped at the white paste and powder with her hands and sleeves. But she only managed to smudge it.
Across the room Vegeta sighed and stood. He found the washing basin and set it on the table beside the bed. He took a small cloth moist with cool water and brought it slowly to her face. Her first reaction was to back away, and when she did she tumbled backwards onto the bed. Vegeta chuckled softly in his throat and sat beside her, stroking the cloth almost lovingly over her face until it was completely clean.
"You are the only woman who can make me laugh and feel some degree of happiness," he said, dropping the cloth to the floor. He cupped Bulma's chin in his hand and kissed her lips gently. "I know that you trained in your old kingdom." She closed her eyes as if he meant to strike her. When his lips made contact with hers once more, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. "It does not anger me," he assured her. "Maybe some day you will be an admirable opponent for me."
"This is what you meant to tell me?" she asked finally, her heart fluttering.
He hesitated a moment, as if he were struggling with his words, and then he simply said, "Yes."
"And may I train here now as well?"
He smirked down at her, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.
"How else are you going to be admirable?" he laughed. She knew he was mocking her slightly, though he meant it when he said she could be a great fighter, and for a moment she struggled against him. But then his hand traveled up into her hair and she was forced to focus on the situation at hand.
"Do not mess my hair, my lord," she whispered huskily, playfully. Inside she was terrified. She would have to be more careful in their couplings. He simply smiled at her and obeyed, as if he understood the urgency behind such a silly request.
"Very well, princess," he sighed. "Are their any other restrictions I must abide?"
"No, dear prince. Do with me what you please."
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---Chapter 7!! Hmm, I can't figure what happened in this chapter that was really that profound. I swear next time a lot more will happen :) Damn Vegeta for not telling her his real name—he was so close!
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Next time: How can Eizo go on without Bulma? When will Bulma find out Yukio is really Vegeta? And when will she learn how truly evil King Frieza is???
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