"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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Bulma wiped her brow and grinned. How exhilarating it was to be training again. After nearly two months of doing virtually nothing, her moves were a little rusty, but nothing some intense training couldn't fix. She had requested a trainer, though her husband had offered to give her the lessons himself; there was something altogether wrong about such a situation to her. Besides, she was coming to like this man, and the last thing she wanted was King Frieza finding out about her training, and the fact that Yukio knew; then they would both be in trouble.
"That was most excellent, milady," the young trainer said. After searching for three days, Kan Morisue was the only trainer who would train a female for the price Prince Yukio was offering. Most of the older trainers were traditional, and, as tradition went, women were not allowed to engage in any such activities. "Your skills seemed to have improved since yesterday."
"I stayed much later after you left, master," she said, bowing low at the waist. A raw cramp shot through her abdomen, and, with all her strength, she was able to ignore it and complete the bow. "My good nurse found me at sunrise; my body must have given way to sleep without my knowledge."
"Milday," Kan said, a sudden look of alarm in his eyes. "Are you feeling well?"
"Well?" she laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm well. How could I train if I were not well?"
"Forgive me, but I believe you should go rest. We can continue your training tomorrow."
Bulma's anger flared for a moment, and then she smiled and nodded.
"Very well. You are my master after all." She padded across the room to a washbasin, immersing a small clothe in the cool water. "You may leave now, Kan," she said, her voice carrying a certain sense of authority. Their secession was over, therefore she would not call him master, though that was not the reason at all; she was bitter with him for cutting her training short. "I look forward to our secession tomorrow." She lifted the clothe from the water, rung it, then dabbed her forehead and cheeks gently. "Good evening, Kan."
Kan nodded and bowed, exiting the room without objection.
It was two hours later that Aneko discovered Bulma in her training room, her body limp and lying on the floor.
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"I'm sorry, milady," Aneko said, struggling to suppress a giggle. "But if you do not agree to take leave of you training, I shall have to involve your husband."
Bulma snuck low in the steaming water of the tub. Her maid had still not told her why she could not train.
"I am not ill, nurse," she huffed.
"Oh yes you are." And this time she could not hold back her laughter.
"And just what is so funny about my being ill?"
"You have no disease, Madame. Your illness is by no means permanent, yet you shall live with the after effects until your dying day."
Bulma narrowed her eyes at her maid for jumping around the point so poetically.
"Nurse, I beg you, tell me what you know."
"Very well." She kneeled down beside the tub, placing a hand on Bulma's cheek. How she loved this girl; she was the daughter she never had. "Your illness shall bring great joy to your husband and your people. You, milady, shall have an heir."
Had her heart stopped?
Bulma looked into the wide, loving eyes of her maid, unable, for a moment, to give any sign that she had even heard. And then, very slowly, she looked down.
"I am with child?" she whispered, her hands instinctively going to her water-submerged belly.
Aneko nodded excitedly, giving Bulma a motherly kiss on the forehead. How to describe how eager and proud she was? But then Bulma already knew, didn't she? What other maid would leave the home she'd always known in favor of a strange and new place?
"I…I…" But the words were never there, and she fell to silence. Was she ready for a child? Society obviously believed she was. And her husband, how would he react?
And then the most horrific thought occurred to her. What if the child were not Yukio's? What if she and Eizo had not been as careful as they thought? And she realized that she would not be happy if the child were Eizo's.
Slowly, she stood, and with help from her nurse, stepped out of the tub and was wrapped in a great white linen towel. Without saying a word she was dressed for supper, trying her best to ignore the grin on Aneko's face, and the equally troubling ache in the pit of her stomach. She had never really thought of having children, until now, that is. Of course she knew that her day would come and she would have to bear heirs for her king, but the idea had seemed so distant.
"When should I tell Yukio?" she asked as Aneko finished adjusting the bow at the back of her dress.
"When you feel you should, my dear." Suddenly she hugged her, pressing her lips to her surrogate daughter's cheek. "I love you, Bulma. You will always be my daughter."
"And you will always be my mother…"
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Dining would never be the same for Bulma at the palace. Now that King Frieza was home, she could no longer dine with Yukio alone. And, not only did the king eat with them, in the grand dining hall, but the king's advisors, confidants, and closest friends. Instead of peace and quiet, she would have to endure with loud rambunctious drunken nobles. She was the only woman at the table.
"Lord, I must inquire about something," Bulma said, giving Yukio's arm a gentle tug. He turned immediately from his conversation with Lord Santo; obviously it was not important. "As I should be, I am fully aware of the observances in which I must be present."
Yukio frowned; he did not care for such things.
"Lord," she pressed, her hand now on his leg. "Is it not custom here for the newly wed Lord and Lady to present themselves to the people? I have not left the palace since the day I arrived."
Her prince went rigid under her touch, then turned away and continued to eat.
Bulma sighed and sat back. Perhaps she could get some answers out of the king the next time they were alone.
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"Six days, milady," Aneko scolded, cornering Bulma in her spacious closet. The young princess shrank between a rack of velvet dresses. "Six days you have known you are with child and you have yet to tell your husband."
"You said for me to tell him when I thought I should!" Bulma shot back. "I am not ready for a child, Aneko! I cannot be a mother so young!"
Aneko sighed and shook her head. Then, very gently, she pulled Bulma towards her and into a warm hug.
"Child," she said, stroking Bulma's long aqua locks. It was early morning, and so she was not yet made up for the day. "Dear princess. No woman is ever ready to become a mother, be assured of that. You are sixteen, and therefore the law states you are allowed to carry your husband's child…It is your husband's child?"
Bulma baulked and jumped back.
"Then you don't know?"
"I know that I want the child to be Yukio's," she sighed, crushing herself against her nurse. "Oh, mama, how could this have happened? I never wanted to be married!"
"Hush child. No one shall know this small fact. And when the child is born, you will know who the father is; I promise you."
"But how—"
"A mother's intuition is the strongest force on this planet, my dear…You will know."
Bulma considered this for a moment, then nodded and hugged her nurse tighter. After all, what else could she believe?
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Bulma tiptoed softly through the massive stonewalled corridors, the beating of her hear the only sound she heard. It was well passed midnight, and, since the moment she'd crawled into bed, training had been on her mind. So what if she was pregnant; she was going to train in secret then. Wouldn't her maid be miserable with worry when she found out? She wanted to laugh out loud at the thought of it. She would deserve it, Bulma thought, for giving such a decree.
She rounded the corner, and was ten paces from the trainer chamber, when suddenly she heard muffled voices. To be more exact, two people yelling at one another behind closed doors. Quickly, she changed her course, and followed the voices. She was led to the end of the corridor, a raw wooden door with hammer iron hinges. Pressing her ear to the door, she immediately knew who was behind it.
"You will give me more time, or I will not cooperate!" came the heated voice of her husband. What on earth could they be discussing that had him so fired up? If only there were a queen in which she could get this information.
"More time!" snapped King Frieza. The rage behind the voice nearly made Bulma stumble over. How cruel and ill-mannered he sounded. No wonder Yukio did not like this man. "I have given you more than enough time! Now, you will deliver the news, and then you and your fabulous little bride will present yourself in public. My people are getting restless!"
"Yes." Yukio's voice was lower, more calculated, but just as resentful. "I would imagine they are eager for my princess. After all they have heard of her, no wonder they are restless. The Dark Princess did not sit well with them."
Bulma's heart fluttered. The Dark Princess? Where had she heard that phrase before? Her past! She wanted now, more than ever, to grab hold of someone and demand the information. Someone had to know the full truth!
"Boy! Do not try my patience! I grow weary of you."
"YOU grow weary of ME?" the young prince laughed. "Ah, Frieza, how much you amuse me. You raped my mother, killed my father, stole me from my kingdom, and YOU are weary?"
"You would have been nothing if it were not for me!" the king countered.
Bulma held onto the wall for badly needed support. Raped? Killed? Kidnapped? Oh, how wrongly she had judged her king!
"If this was the only alternative, I would have gladly chosen nothing," Yukio sneered. There was the sound of sharp booted footsteps on the stone floor. Bulma tensed, and was about to flee, when the steps halted. "I will take all the time I wish with MY wife, Frieza. Push me and you shall know true wrath."
"One month," King Frieza said, his voice low, but very close to the door. Bulma knew she should run, but the conversation was simply too intriguing to do anything but stand and listen. "Then I will tell her myself."
"Very well, father," he mocked.
"Try not to fail me, again, Vegeta."
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Bulma was in her chambers before she knew she'd run. With her hands on her chest, her back to the door, she recounted the conversation, word for word, in her mind. It mattered not now that they had been speaking of her, and that she didn't know the context. Yukio, her husband, her prince, the future king of her new kingdom, was not Yukio at all!
Was that her heart in her ears? She wanted to throw herself on the floor and cry out. She knew this name, Vegeta, knew the face that went with it and all the things it represented. He was from her past! He had been there when she was a girl, fueling her desire to train. Did he know though? The full story? Or was he as clueless as she had been?
Angrily she went to her writing desk and pulled out a sheet of fresh paper. Quickly she scribbled "Vegeta: good or bad? Must find more." in small black ink letters. She slipped the paper under the mattress, and was about to fetch her diary, where she would recall the event in detail, when she heard his footsteps, and it was time for her to feign sleep. Faster than she'd ever dressed in her life, Bulma changed back into her night things, and crawled beneath the covers. Yukio, or rather the newly found Vegeta, entered the chamber not a moment later.
He disrobed in the far corner, after lighting a single candle. Bulma watched him from her place in the bed, at his almost hypnotic way of removing his clothing. His anger and sadness amplified his sensuality, and for a moment she did not think of what had just occurred.
After he pulled on his sleeping robe, he grabbed the candle, set it on the nightstand, then climbed into bed beside her. For sometime he simply lay there on his back, not touching her as he usually did whether she was sleeping or not; he lived for that closeness.
"Princess," he whispered suddenly, and Bulma could no longer pretend to be in a deep sleep. How in despair he sounded! She curled into him, her head on his chest.
"Yes sire?" she whispered back. She fought every urge in her body to not kiss him just then.
He opened his mouth to speak, but it was not with words he replied. Eagerly, he pulled her up, one hand immediately plunging between her legs. She cried out softly, unable, for a moment, to do anything but submit. And then she began to remove his robe, knowing he was naked beneath, her lips and teeth working expertly on his neck and collarbone. But when she mounted him, her full round breasts pressed against his chest, he resisted her roughness and rolled her onto her back. She was utterly confused, for so many nights before he had practically begged her to dominate him, and only after that would he give way to animal instincts and throw her down.
"Lord," she breathed, his mouth assaulted one strained pink nipple. "Lord, please." He raised his head, his face solemn, yet impassioned. "What is wrong?"
"I desire your flesh, princess," he said callously, ignoring her this time when she protested. He turned her over onto her stomach, one hand still cupping her breast. And then, grabbing a handful of her well-made black hair, he entered her, pumping into her almost savagely. She cried out hoarsely, in both pain and pleasure. When he would not abide her pleas to stop, for she knew he heard though her voice was muffled, she pushed herself up with all her strength, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. He stared angrily up at her for a moment, and then bowed his head, remaining on the floor, naked and covered in a thin layer of sweat.
"I must tell you something, lord," she said, her voice steady and cold. If she had known her wig was removed, she showed no signs of it. "I am with child now, as my nurse tells me. If you treat me in such a way again, I will not hesitate to castrate you. Am I clear?"
Vegeta nodded slowly, looking for all the world like a lost and desperate street child.
"I never meant to harm you," he said to the floor. The sudden sincerity in his voice made her want to run to him and envelope him in her arms. But she was the violated one, not he. And so she remained angry on the bed.
"Then tell me the truth!" she demanded. His head snapped up and he stared, wide-eyed at her. "I know who you are, Vegeta, and I am willing to bet my life that you know who I am as well." Without a word he stood, unashamed of his nakedness, and opened his arms, as if to say, "Yes, I am that evil, and so do what you will with me."
For nearly ten minutes the couple stewed in silence, staring at one another, their feelings boiling, simmering, then subsiding, only to recreate the cycle all over again. If he loved her at all, he showed it now in his submissive silence. If she loved him at all, she would not show it.
"You are a selfish man!" she hissed suddenly, climbing off the bed and advancing towards him, as if she meant to strike him.
"Bulma—"
"No! Do not speak to me!"
"I never—"
"Prince!"
"Let me tell you!"
She crossed her arms and stood back, nodding slowly. Yes, she would hear his words, and then she would never give him her kindness again. She listened intently to him as he spoke, his voice low and just slightly unsteady. She saw no tears, though she sensed they were there, or very near. When the elaborate and soul-shattering story came to an end, Vegeta looked up, withholding all emotion. He would not put her through the pain of conflict, of having to choose between anger and affection. She deserved her anger as surely as he deserved his for Lord Frieza.
"You say you hate this man who is your father, and yet you married me," she said after long, agonizing moments of silence. "You married me not because he decreed it, sir, but because it was your desire! I am forever regretful I was not assassinated with my true parents."
Vegeta made no attempt to correct her words.
"I am right then, sire?"
He nodded.
"I could have loved you, Vegeta, loved as Yukio, the brat prince, the arrogant and demanding husband. There was something so pure and innocent about your anger. I know now that the reason behind it is the grief you carry for the death of your true parents; I am not the only orphan in this marriage…After such humiliation, however, I find I shall never love as I dreamed. Hate shall consume my soul as it has for years, and I will die unhappy and bitter with the life I have led." Her arms were around him suddenly, and for a moment he couldn't breath, couldn't think. "Had you not been my prince, lord," she whispered, her lips grazing his ear. "Had I never laid eyes on you, and had my heart not already begun its inevitable coarse to love…Death I can handle, Vegeta. Heartbreak, however, shall create a permanent shadow over my soul." She kissed him roughly, then pulled away and went for the door. "I thank you kindly for those first months of ignorant bliss. They may catch me if I fall."
And then she was gone, and he knew there was no winning her back.
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---Chapter 8!!! Holy conflict! Holy angst! Holy lots of stuff :P Heehee. I hope everyone liked this. You can't expect me, Marci, to not have some kind of heartbreaking angst. I mean, come on, if any of you have read one of my other stories you should have predicted this, heehee :P
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)
Next time: What is to come for the broken couple? And how will Frieza ultimately affect them?
Note: Sorry about the rape scene. Not quite the lemon people wanted, huh? I promise there will be a full one eventually though :) And no, Vegeta is not evil. You have to understand the time period we're in. Does that help any? I hope so!
THANK YOU Lollybear07 :D