Last time:

"This moment," she said, hugging Vegeta close to her, "is the single greatest in my entire lifetime. I thank you…Prince Vegeta…"

He did not know how to respond. He never knew how to respond. And so he simply hugged her back and prayed to Kami that their plan would work.

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"What can you tell me about them?" Frieza asked, resting his wine goblet on the arm of his chair.

"Not much, sire," replied the trembling scout. "I followed them, night and day, as instructed. But, alas, I lost track. They were too swift and sensed my presence."

"Well," he sighed, "then I shall just have to find a more worthy scout. You are dismissed."

The middle aged man scuttled from the room, just happy to have come out of his meeting alive. As he exited, he passed the king's personal servant and most trusted advisor, Goro, who seemed in very high spirits. He was of the highest ranking a servant could be, possessing titles unbefitting of a servant. But as King Frieza'a word was law, no one could say much.

"The day is gloomy, Goro," snapped the king, his foul mood intensified by his servant's smile. "What gives you occasion to smile and mock my temperament?"

"The day is sunny, lord," he said with a deep bow. "I saw not a cloud and I have brought its rays inside for you to enjoy."

"What sun?"

"I did as you told me to, sire. I followed the scout and saw him fail, though he was brave and did what he could. The Lady and your son have been romping in the forest. Punching and kicking and biting."

"They train?" He raised an eyebrow. So the fire of the young Bulma had not been extinguished over time and despair. He was exhilarated by the news. A challenge was always a blessing in his eyes, one reason for choosing Vegeta as his son.

"Most diligently. And until neither breath or thought of breath."

"And their goal?" He could feel the corners of his mouth twitch for want of a smile.

"You, my lord."

"Brilliant!" he cried, clapping his hands together.

"Sire?"

"Yes, Goro?"

"Forgive my questions, but what celebration is in this news? Surely it is not good that your son and new daughter are plotting your demise."

"On the contrary, my friend, it is wondrous news."

Goro frowned. Ever since Bulma had come to the palace his faith in his lord had been waning. There had always been talk of his corruption and rudeness, but Goro always brushed them away as rumors. But now, the cover pealing back, he was beginning to see his lord for who he really was. And he was not happy.

"How so, lord?"

"Ah now, that is for my thoughts alone. Run along, Goro, and see your wife. I hear that you have not seen her in some time. Bring her new dresses and give your children toys, but hurry back within three days, for I have much work for you."

Goro bowed and swept from the room, a deep grimace on his face. He wanted to be sick. His lord was nothing now. No great man, no king, not even a noble beggar. He was dirt and worse.

"Fair thee well, sire," he whispered. For your table of enemies grows.

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Bulma huffed and planted herself unceremoniously on their bed. She slipped off her wig and tossed it aside, allowing her aqua curls to fall and frame her face.

"I am fit now, prince," she groaned. "In a few short months I will be too large, but now I am fit. Let us go forth before he catches wind."

"The walls have ears," he scolded, rolling his eyes. "And no, princess, you are not fit. Were anything to happen to our child you would be devastated. I say there will be no strike until we have our heir. And not a moment sooner."

"And if I proceed without you?"

"Then you are a fool." He came forward, touching her hair gently. "Should I prepare your funerary arrangements now, wife? Are you that eager to die without cause?"

"What coarse words." She stood and rang for Aneko. "You may leave now, husband. I must prepare for supper."

He mock-bowed, then stormed from the room.

"What reason does she have to be angry with me?" he hissed, trudging down the hall to his training chamber. "I protect her and she barks as if I've struck her. Foul, wicked wench!"

He was about to turn the corner, when he sensed someone's presence. He cut on his heals, his sword out, its tip pressed perilously into his father's servant's cheek.

"Goro," he sighed angrily, and lowered his weapon. "I nearly killed you. What reason have you to sneak around the palace? Speak!"

Goro was unshamed and bowed, leaving no cause to question his loyalty.

"May I walk with you, sire? I have need to discuss a matter, yet I fear these walls."

Vegeta nodded and they proceeded down the hall and into Vegeta's private study, positioned as far from any of Frieza's rooms as he could get.

"What matter, drudge? And make it quick. I have matters before supper and you waste my time."

"Forgive me, lord, but I must confess something first."

Vegeta gave a wave of his hand.

"I have kept loyal to this house all my life. I once believed our king was a right and good king."

"Do you mean to tell me your tribute sways, good man? What a heartache for my father." And behind his scowl he was beaming.

"I will be brief," he said, lowering his eyes. Perhaps he was making a horrible mistake. But his honor was at stake, and that was something he treasured more than his life. He would not go to the grave dishonoring himself or his family. "Our lord, the king, had reason to believe that yourself and your bride were up to ill things. He sent a scout to track you, and then myself to make sure he did his job."

"He failed no doubt," Vegeta scoffed, laughing just a little.

"Yes, sire."

"And you triumphed?"

"Yes, sire, but—"

"I require no explanations, Goro. Continue."

"I delivered the information to the king. I told him of your plots and plans, and he was overjoyed!"

"Yes, he would be, wouldn't he?"

"I beg your pardon, sire."

Vegeta narrowed his brow in question, then burst into laughter. Goro was horrorstruck and took several steps back.

"Sire?"

"The king has not told you his plans? Or his misdeeds to myself and my queen?"

Goro shook his head.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't. You are a lowly servant, after all, and it would not be proper."

"And these plans—"

"Are you a woman, Goro!" Vegeta howled with laughter. "Gossiping like this I might be inclined to check under your robe for breasts."

"I would make a disreputable woman, lord."

"Yes, that is true."

"Sire?"

"Ah, the plots," he sighed. "I think I should have you beaten for such a suggest—"

"Lord!"

"You are trying my kindness, drudge!" he hissed. "If I say you should be beaten then that is law. I will tell you nothing, for you are simple and cannot be trusted as the king's most trusted. But," he continued, stopping Goro mid-breath, "I shall be gentle with you. You have one chance to prove your loyalty to me and me alone. If I hear of you counter-plotting with my father then I will have your neck and the necks of your family. Am I clear?"

"I live you serve you, lord."

"Good. Now leave."

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Life in the Cold Empire was calm and quiet, a gentle buzz coursing through the walls. Things were happening, secret things, and yet the royals smiled and behaved as much as they could stand it.

Bulma's belly was growing at a rapid pace, or so she felt, and soon she was too large to train, or even to sit at her desk and write. New dresses were made and fitted to her ever-growing form. She feared she would burst if she grew another inch. But she still had a few months to go and grow, and so the palace, and the kingdom, held its breath in wait.

She was now always uncomfortable, and constantly restless, having begun her confinement to the palace and its enclosed gardens. She was to have no visitors aside from the king, her husband, her nurse, and a select few who were permitted to visit the castle.

"This is unbearable!" she groaned, tugging at the heavy fabric of her gown. The pins Aneko had just put in tinked to the floor and she let out some choice curse words.

"Be still, child! Or I shall never finish this dress!"

"What's the point? I will only out-grow it as I did the one before it, and the one before that. I should simply wear dressing gowns and slippers, and stay shut up in my room, for I get just as good now."

"I take it you were never informed of what a mother-to-be must do?" Aneko laughed. "Ah, my beautiful daughter." She rose, pins in hand, and kissed Bulma on the forehead. "It is for the good of your heir that you confine yourself. Do you not wish him to be healthy?"

"You cannot know what I feel," she continued, seeming to ignore her nurse's words. "Quickly. Finish this dress and then I wish to rest. I am weary."

"As I am," Aneko murmured under her breath, then bent back down to finish the sewing.

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Vegeta had never before been so confused. His wife was a hailstorm of emotions, and he always seemed to be caught in the crossfire. He craved her as much as he always had, but kept his distance. Both for her sanity and her health. He cared not for royal rules that he should not touch her. She was his wife, his queen, and as such he would do as he pleased.

"What news from the nurse?" he asked, not looking at her. He was furious with her behavior.

"I should not have the child before two months," Bulma replied with heat. "Though it appears that the child wishes to come sooner and we may very well have an heir within the month."

"Perfect."

"Yes, lord."

He turned to leave, but, at the least minute, his anger got the better of him and he spun on his heel, advancing on her with fire in his eyes. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, her belly between them, and forced her down on the bed. It took him a moment to realize that she was submitting to his outburst, at which time he released her.

"Have I upset you lord?"

"Very much, Princess."

"In what way, lord?"

"Stop with the pleasantries, lady. You speak them only to irritate me and I demand to know why!"

"I carry your child," she sighed. "I bend at your entrance, I follow at your exit. I am your bed-fellow, your mostly obedient wife and queen, and all of this I do against my will." She paused a moment, gauging his reaction. He remained firm and narrow-eyed. "Does this explanation serve its purpose?"

"Very well," he fumed. And this time he really did leave the room.

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Dripping wet and wailing with lungs of steal, Prince Trunks Ouji came into the world. Aneko, being handed the child by the midwife, wrapped him in cloth and wiped his face. Bulma lied on the delivery bed, straight-backed and waiting to be handed her son, the newest prince of the Cold Empire. She was tired, but nothing compared to what most women went through in birth. All of her rigorous training was showing splendid results.

"Let me have him, nurse," Bulma sighed, holding her arms out. Aneko placed the child in the crook of her arms, his head resting comfortably on her breast. He was fast asleep within moments. "So quiet now," she whispered, "after such a powerful entrance. I think he should be a handsome and worthy king."

"Very much so, child," Aneko agreed. She brushed some wet, aqua hair from Bulma's face, unable to mask her deeply etched grin. "I do see some features of his father, Vegeta, in him. Yet such a curious color of hair."

"Ah yes, the murmurs it will create."

"But he has your eyes, my sweet. He will be as strong and determined as his mother."

"One should hope so."

Hours later, after the sun had already set, Vegeta was finally able to view his new son. All throughout the day he'd caught whispers of the boy's strength and full lungs, of his lavender hair and mother-blue eyes. He possessed his hard chin and prominent nose. He had all the makings of a king, and he was without a doubt Vegeta's son.

"Such a small thing," were the first words from his mouth after Aneko had brought him in and placed him in Bulma's arms.

"Have you never seen a baby before, lord?" Bulma's mood had changed substantially since last they spoke. Only yesterday they had gotten into a tiff in the gardens, where Bulma stormed off, vowing she would cut him from ear to ear by the end of the week. "They are quite small and helpless. I believe you were one once."

"That I was," he replied, his voice stern and unwavered by the sight of his child, a being he and his wife created not one year ago. It still seemed strange to him that he now had offspring. The idea, the plan, it had always been there, lurking behind his and his "father's" every move. But now, to see the infant, cradled and asleep against its mother, it brought a whole new meaning to his life. Not that much would change. For the first years of Trunks' life, Vegeta would hardly lay eyes on him. He would be raised by nurses, only to be viewed by his parents. Once he reached his fourth year he would begin to filter into the royal court, dressing and—hopefully—acting like a true prince.

No, the new meaning was the permanent connection he and Bulma now shared. No matter what they would always have Trunks, their son, binding them together. They were married, bound by law, but that meant nothing to either who saw major flaws in tradition. This, however, was something even Bulma could not ignore.

"When are we to see him again?" Bulma asked, keeping an expert demeanor, though Vegeta saw the sheen to her eyes.

"You must rest now," the midwife said, taking the baby from her arms. "In two months time, I think, you will be fit enough for court and leave of the palace. I think then you can see the prince."

"Two months?" she whispered after the midwife was gone. She eased herself onto the bed, feeling faint.

"Wife?"

She looked up, a sudden anger behind her face.

"We will strike before then," she said, leaving no room for discussion.

"Very well." He bowed and backed towards the door. "Oh, and wife. We have a new ally."

And before she could ask questions, he was gone.

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I know I took FOREVER with this story, but I have been busy, and had writer's block. I sort of forgot about it and almost gave up, but recently I decided to pick it up again. I hope everyone likes it (still). I really just needed to finish it, to say that it was done. I love this story so I couldn't just let it hang forever.

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