Chapter Three
The Canary's Plumage
The next morning, Vegeta met Bulma inside her carriage as they prepared to travel again. "I'll be riding ahead with my men today." He pulled out a dagger from his side scabbard. "For attackers," he explained, though his tone of voice told Bulma he didn't believe her lie from yesterday for a second. She took it from him and gingerly held it.
He glanced at the blade in her hands, then back up at her. With a sigh, he unhooked the rope from his belt.
"Vegeta?"
"Hold your feet together."
She did as she was told. He wound the rope around her ankles and feet, binding them together like a mermaid. When he finished, he turned around and started to leave.
"Not my arms?" she asked.
He turned around and smiled. "You can cut them off or you can unbind the knots." With a wink, he shut the carriage door.
Bulma sank into the chair and crossed her arms. That was another dare of his. Take off the ropes and get a punishment when they settled for the night or leave them on and get a punishment masquerading as a reward. Her feet already ached and she hadn't been bound for ten minutes.
"Unfortunately for him, I'm not as stupid as I look." She smiled and reached down and started unraveling the rope, paying close attention to the type of knots he used. Taking things apart and putting them back together came naturally to her. She set aside the rope and stretched her legs. Whenever the sun started to set she should tie herself back up.
Now what can I do today? She sighed. At least at the castle she had things to do. Here all she could do was look out the window.
Goku knocked on her window. She smiled and unlatched the window hinge, swinging it open. "Morning."
"Hey, Bulma. How are you liking it?"
"It's boring," she admitted. "I'm tired of being here."
"I heard you tried to run away yesterday."
"News travels fast."
"Not really. I'm on guard duty today because of it."
She frowned. "Really? He's putting his second in command on guard duty?"
He shrugged. "Are you going to try and run away again?"
She knew where this was heading. "I won't run away today, so you can go ahead and get back to your men."
He smiled. "Thanks, Bulma."
"No problem." She closed the door with a heavy sigh. Any other person she would have lied to, but Goku had his moments of genuine kindness. If she ran away under his watch there was no telling what Vegeta would do to him. What's another day after fifteen years, anyway?
The minutes that ticked by felt like an eternity. I need to find something to do. Why did I tell Goku to go away? Of the current positions in Vegeta's army, she could do none of them. She wasn't a soldier, the soldiers cooked for themselves, she knew nothing of bladecraft or armorcraft, and she knew nothing about healing people, outside of what she did the for the other girls after an Vegeta session. Superficial stitching, basic first aid, nothing like the gaping wounds the soldiers earned in battle. She stroked her chin. Maybe I can ask to be a part of the medic team. It'd be a great skill to have once I get out of here.
She opened the window and called out to the men riding beside her. "I need to speak with Goku."
The look on their face told her they were annoyed at having to obey a slave, but nonetheless one turned back and rode away. Goku returned with him a moment later.
"Something wrong?" he greeted.
"I want to see the medics."
He frowned. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I want to be their apprentice."
"Have you asked Vegeta?"
Of course I haven't. But I know what he'll say. "He agreed. Says I'll be less of a burden that way."
Goku stroked his chin, clearly unsure of whether to believe her lie.
She continued, "It's only logical. Otherwise I'm a waste of resources."
"That sounds like Vegeta, but…" He lifted the reins on his horse. "I'll be back."
Before she could stop him, he rode off. Great, there's another punishment added to my list. She leaned back into the seat and tapped her fingertips against her knee.
After a moment, Goku knocked on her window. "He said you'd be less of a burden," he said, obviously surprised. "I thought you made that up."
I did. But you don't know Vegeta like I do.
He gestured to the driver and the carriage slowed to a halt. She retied the thick belt of her robe, securing the dagger, and climbed out.
"Are you okay to walk?" he asked.
She nodded.
He trotted along and she followed beside him. "Why a medic?"
"If I'm stuck in that carriage for hours every day I'll go mad."
"A lot of men would kill to be in that carriage instead of walking."
"Then they'll be the first to die in battle."
He laughed. "All armies need a front line."
"Isn't that where Vegeta is?"
"Vegeta is blessed by the gods of war. He won't die in battle." He winked. "And neither will I, for that matter."
"It seems the Saiyans are made for warring," she responded dryly.
Goku smiled. "Our destiny is to name this land as ours. The gods created us as such. It is why the lesser clans fall to us easily."
She cringed at his last line. He seemed to have forgotten that she was included as one of those lesser clans that fell to their warmongering many years ago. "Then you are not scared of Frieza?"
He shook his head. "On the contrary. I'm excited."
His words sent a thunderbolt of shock through her. Have I got it all wrong? Vegeta isn't scared of death, he's excited at the prospect of conquering it?
"Though, I will say, if I get a scratch or two better you to treat it."
She scoffed out a laugh.
He pointed ahead to a group of men clad in navy robes. "Those are the medic's blues. The one in front, Kami, is the one we will be speaking to shortly."
Kami seemed like he lived through a hundred years of wars. His skin had the texture of tanned leather and deep wrinkles that resembled striations upon the sand. He hunched over his horse, trotting along slowly.
"He still is out on the battlefield?" she thought aloud.
"Kami has been around the longest of all of us. He knows a great many things, and he's saved a great many lives. You should be honored to be apprenticed to him."
She nodded and kept her mind blank and her mouth shut until they met Kami's squad. Goku pulled his horse at pace with Kami. "This is Bulma, the First. Prince Vegeta has ordered her to be an apprentice under your care."
Kami glanced down at her, but she couldn't read the expression on his face. "Very well," he replied. "If Prince Vegeta decrees it, I cannot object. Can you sew?"
She nodded. "I can."
He raised his brows. "The first whore I've met who knew a homemaking task."
She swallowed the anger bubbling inside. It was true; to all of the army, no, all of the kingdom, she was the whore at Vegeta's side. "I think you'll find I know a great many things."
He smiled, a large grin, with only a few teeth left. He turned his head to the side. "Popo!"
A tan horse strolled up beside him. A short and husky man rode on it, skin dark as the night sky. "How many I be of service?"
"Give this girl the first test and the anatomy scrolls."
Popo glanced down at her and stared at her with an emotionless expression. "Of course."
Goku cleared his throat. "Well, looks like things are going well. Be sure to let her back to her carriage by nightfall. She needs to be ready for Vegeta when it's time."
"Of course. Follow Popo, girl, and make haste."
She jogged back after Popo, who strutted next to a large open wagon. The wagoner stopped the wagon. "Get on," Popo ordered. She climbed on and the wagon began moving again. "In the trunk on the right are the anatomy scrolls. We'll expect you to memorize each and every one of them before you're ever going to touch one of the men. As for your first trial, give me a moment." He snapped the reins and galloped off.
She opened the trunk and found many illustrations of the male body, complete with labels. While she knew the exterior rather intimately, the sketches of the interior body proved fascinating. The drawings were drawn on very thin paper, almost transparent. She lifted up the stack to the sun. The layers became one complete picture. The veins, the muscles, the organs, the bones, all a part, but all belonging together.
"Girl," Popo greeted.
She put down the sheets. He held a bunny up by its ears.
"This is the first test." He took a knife from his belt and sliced it across the belly of the animal. It screamed out in pain. He tossed it in front of her.
"What are you doing?" she screamed.
"The cut is superficial. If you stop the bleeding and stitch him back together, he won't bleed to death."
Her hands trembled as she threw things out of the trunk, searching for a needle and thread. A small pool of blood gathered around her feet.
"Stop the bleeding," Popo said dryly.
Her breaths came rapid and short. The world started to spin around her. Think, Bulma! When the girls bleed, the first thing you do is bind them. She pulled off the belt tying her robe and tied it around the animal then applied pressure.
"Here," Popo said, handing her a small pouch with needle and thread. She threaded the needle and looked back down at the rabbit. It's just like sewing clothes. Just stitch the two parts together.
She untied the belt. The blood slowed to an ooze. She wiped the blood off the fur and saw the pink flesh peeking through the cut. With trembling hands, she stuck the needle through the first piece of skin. The rabbit screamed. She swallowed and held it down with one hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She passed the needle through again, trying to ignore the screams. Its thrashing movements made stitching difficult. She worked fast, hoping that the speed would lessen its struggle. When she finished, she held the animal to her breast. Its tiny body shook against her. She ran her hand over its head. "It's okay. It's okay."
Popo cleared his throat. He held out his hand. She gave the rabbit to him. He ran his finger over the stitching. "He's still breathing. Not bad. The chefs will be pleased."
She stared at him. "You're going to kill him?"
"This rabbit was for dinner. He was always going to die. That's why we used him as a test."
"No! Give him back!"
"We train new people using the animals we eat. You passed the first test. You didn't panic and let it die." He reached into the pouch at his side and pulled out a book. "Read this. Memorize it. We will see you again in a week." He turned and walked back to his horse.
As she walked back to her carriage, the soldiers stared. She looked insane, no doubt. Her robe billowed open, exposing her bloodstained body. I can't handle it. That was just a rabbit. What if it was a soldier? What if she couldn't save him in time and he died?
But at the same time, she remembered the relief and elation in her heart the moment she put the rabbit to her chest. Even though the rabbit was food, she managed to save it at that moment. She had the power to help it. I spent my entire life thinking of how to end life. Of course I'm going to falter trying to save it.
"Bulma," Goku said, bringing his horse next to her. "Why didn't you wait for me to pick you back up? If you left Vegeta would put a knife through my heart."
"Sorry."
He sighed. "Are you okay?"
She smiled. "I'm okay now. I would like to wash myself before returning to the carriage."
"Of course."
Vegeta opened the door.
"Rather late, isn't it?" Bulma greeted. "It will be dusk soon."
"And you are still awake?"
She shrugged. "Nights are where I belong."
He smiled and sat next to her. "You remained bound the entire time?"
"You know the answer to that question."
"I do." He lifted up her legs and inspected the knots. "It seems you have another skill I'm unaware of." He began unraveling the binds. "A medic now, I hear?"
"You can't keep me locked in here day and night. I may as well be of use to your crusade."
He chuckled. "I don't disapprove of the apprenticeship." He reached over and cupped her chin. "I disapprove of the methods you went about securing this apprenticeship. Did you not learn your place yesterday? Are you trying to force me to punish you?"
A spark of desire lit in her upon hearing the word punish. She glared back at him and called his bluff. "And if I am?" He smiled a reply and tightened his grip. It stung a bit, but she refused to back down. "You asked me to be your queen yesterday," she continued. "Should a queen not be able to make decisions for herself?"
"As I recall, you would rather chase after that freedom you fantasize about."
"Maybe it's a better idea to become queen." She drew the dagger at her side and pushed him back, pointing it at his heart. "Once my title is secure, I can stage a coup."
He glanced down at the dagger and back at her. "Do you know why I brought you along?"
"Does that matter with a dagger at your heart?"
"Doubt."
"Doubt?" she echoed.
"When I look in your eyes, I see conviction. Even after being with me for most of your life, you've never once lost that hatred for me. You have a strength of conviction. When I see you, I lose my doubts."
She tightened her grip around the dagger's hilt. "How many lives will I avenge at your death?"
He ran his finger along the blade of the dagger. "When you stab someone, do it with conviction." Before she could comprehend what happened, he took the dagger from her and the cold metal burned her throat. She winced as the sharp point pricked her skin.
"Conviction," he repeated, sliding the blade down the opening in her robe, between her breasts. "Now why haven't I killed you?" He pushed aside the cloth of her robe and slid the dagger over her right breast. He pressed the flat of the blade against her nipple. She hissed as the cold metal seared her sensitive flesh. He tugged at the belt around her waist, pulling it loose. The robe loosely fell around her body. "You have beautiful skin. I hate to do this." He pressed down on her belly with the tip of the knife, pricking her skin.
"When you stab someone, do it with conviction," she mocked.
His eyebrow raised for a second, but he said nothing in reply. The knife slid down to her legs. "Open them," he commanded, tapping her thigh.
She opened her legs. He slid the dagger down her inner thigh, down to her knee, leaving a trail of tingling pleasure in its wake. As he slid it up, he pricked a spot mid-thigh. She couldn't stop the heavy gasp from leaving her. Unlike any coupling with him before, the pleasure wasn't from the pain itself, but the anticipation. If she said something that angered him, he could kill her easily. The danger heightened her senses.
"Any other woman would be crying right now. Begging me to spare their life. But not you."
The dagger hovered over her mound. She took in a sharp breath as he pressed the flat of the blade against her clit. The cold metal both burned and soothed all at once.
"Are you scared?" he asked, running the tip of the blade up to her breasts.
"No," she breathed.
"Why?"
"If you wanted to kill me you would have done it the moment you took the knife away from me."
He laughed. "You're right."
As he ran the blade over her body, that distinct ache formed inside. If she moved so much as a nudge, the knife could cut her. She kept her body still, breathing raggedly, struggling to contain the excitement coursing through her. Even without ropes, he found a way to bind her.
The blade rested over her heart. He rubbed his fingers at her entrance and pushed inside. She held her breath and closed her eyes. His thick fingers were methodical in pleasuring her. She could feel the heat from his gaze. He knew as well as she did that that blade was meant to kill, not act in ceremony. The ease in which the blade danced over her body owed to their years together, the pinpoint way they knew how each acted in pleasure.
He pressed the tip of the blade against her clit. She gasped out a moan. He alternated the pressure of the blade against her clit. Fire-hot pleasure rushed to her core. She whimpered.
"Don't move," he warned.
That deep rumble of his voice sent shivers through her. She looked up to him and met his gaze. The cool blade slid up her body. At her waist, he tapped it against her skin, inching her to his lap. He inched the blade to her throat. Her short panting breaths were the only sound between them. He teased his fingertips at her entrance then wiped them on the blade. "Lick it off," he commanded.
She ran her tongue over the metal. She could barely taste herself on his blade, but enjoyed the sensation of the slick metal against her tongue. He slid his fingers inside her. She gasped and he pressed the flat of the blade against her lips. "Be quiet," he ordered.
His thick fingers slid in and out of her slowly. Her muffled moans tickled her lips. He nipped her ear. "I said to be quiet."
The deep rumblings of his voice sent a lovely shudder through her. He pulled his fingers out and took the blade off her mouth, substituting his fingers. She eagerly sucked his fingers. He grabbed her hips and lifted her up, then sat her down on him.
"Rock your hips."
She rolled her hips over him. He reached around and started rubbed her clit.
"Ah," she gasped.
He growled and pressed the blade against her throat. "I said to be quiet."
"Forgive me," she whispered.
"I didn't say to stop."
She rocked her hips over him, struggling to keep her upper body still. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, making each minute movement a hurricane of sensations. He continued to rub her clit and it made her dizzy. The cold blade against her throat, the hot cock inside her, the threat of being killed, mixed into a surreal high. Even he seemed to be enjoying it. He felt different than usual.
His lips tickled her ear as he spoke. "You're obeying me for once."
"You have a blade at my neck." Her voice came out husky and heavy with her lust. He chuckled and nibbled on her earlobe. Tingling sensations washed down her spine, making her whimper in pleasurable agony.
"Quiet," he ordered with a chiding tone, yet the tip of the blade sank into the tender skin of her shoulder.
She grunted as the shocking pain coursed through her.
He let the tiny trickle of blood run along the silver. It was just enough blood to dye the edge crimson. He pressed the blade against her breasts as he grabbed the flesh of her hip and instructed her to ride. Each upward motion was marred with the pressure of the knife, an ever present reminder that he had no qualms about pricking her tender flesh. The moment their bodies joined tension burst into a delicious pleasure. She put a hand over her mouth to keep from making a noise. She hovered at the edge of sanity and delirium. She held onto his arms, digging her nails into his firm flesh.
"Vegeta," she pleaded, not caring if her outburst earned her a punishment.
"No," he groaned. "Keep going."
His other hand began rubbing her clit. She hovered at the edge of sanity. "Please, Vegeta!"
The knife pricked the swell of her breast. A mixture of nausea, pain, pleasure, and numbness swirled through her all at once, one after the other. "I can't," she rasped.
"You will."
Something broke inside her. She felt hot tears running down her cheeks. It wasn't from sadness or frustration, rather, an expression of the intense emotions coursing through her all at once. He didn't tell her not to cry. Instead he kissed her cheek. She stared at him through a watery haze. She kept her mouth shut and obeyed his order to keep quiet.
"Now," he ordered.
She came. Her cries were a mix of a throaty howl and a sob. Euphoria blinded her to the world around them. Like a firework, the sensations burst in a fabulous flame and crackled to smoke. She came down from her high, cheeks cold from the remnants of her tears, serene in the strong arms of Vegeta.
Her bliss couldn't last long. She still felt the erection inside her, hot and angry, protesting her rest. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for another round.
"Turn around," he ordered.
His voice sent a delightful chill through her. Deep, husky, and throaty, all evidence of his desire and need for her. She changed her position, careful to keep him inside her. He tapped the sides of his neck with the knife. Her eyes widened. She started to object, but halted herself. She put her hands around his neck and began to bounce her hips over him. He pressed the blade against her cheek.
Something in her stopped her from choking him as she normally did. She saw his glare, that evil glare that could halt a lion in its tracks, but it failed to invoke the encompassing hatred in her heart. She didn't want to kill him. Not tonight, with tears still wet on her cheek. She couldn't cry when she killed him, even tears born from a different well of emotion.
Those sharp eyes of his seemed to read through her hesitation. A deep growl left his throat, sending a chill down her spine. He slapped her cheek with the blade. "Do it!"
The slap was meant to incense her, she knew that. But it did the opposite. She wanted to quell the anger inside him. Fresh tears fell down her cheeks. His brows twisted into obvious frustration. The cool metal at her cheek reminded her of what she had to do. She squeezed his neck. His furious scowl changed to a smile. He laughed. The sound frightened her. Not even choking him cut off the horrid sound.
"Yes!"
Why do you like this?
"Kill me," he growled.
Why do you ask me to do this?
He grabbed the knife and pressed the point under her chin. Was it real? Was it still a game? Bulma couldn't tell. She stared into his eyes. "Vegeta," she pleaded in a soft voice. "Don't."
He threw the knife to the side and pushed their bodies down to the floor of the carriage, crushing her under his weight. "Hate me," he yelled. "Hate me!"
She felt his desperation in his erratic thrusts. "Vegeta," she whispered.
"Hate me!" he cried, voice a weird mesh of his dominant growl and a weak sadness.
His voice sent a wave of sadness through her. She embraced him and said nothing, only clinging to him as he begged her to hate him over and over. His seed filled her and he collapsed onto her, still crushing her in an embrace. She found herself unable to let go of him as well.
He stared into her eyes. He cupped her chin and ran his thumb along her cheek, wiping the remnants of tears. Despite the storm of their coupling, she felt calm. Serene, in fact. Their relationship was not a traditional relationship, one of smiles and love. And that was okay. She would still leave him and run away, but she wouldn't kill him.
She leaned up and brushed her lips against his. He didn't return her kiss, and still stared down at her, face clouded with an expression she couldn't read.
He rolled off her and sat on the opposite carriage, staring out the window.
The moonlight drifted through and illuminated his body, giving it an ethereal glow. She held up her hands and stared at them. Fifteen years they lived in vengeance, eagerly anticipating when they would end that life. And yet, those hands held a bleeding rabbit and mended it. Was that all it took? Could these hands not kill anymore?
When she looked back at him, she saw him staring at her. He held out his hand. When she took it, he pulled her up to his lap. He leaned his head against the window, saying nothing.
She found no words to say to him either. The only words left were questions. Why he wanted her to kill him. What exactly did she feel the moment tears fell from her eyes and refused to stop. Why both of them seemed broken, yet neither of them could mend each other, despite being the only ones who could.
She leaned into him and listened to his heartbeat. Now, though, now she could ask the question that bothered her ever since their journey began. "Do you fear the seer's words?"
He glanced down at her and back to the window. "Do you know how many men I have?"
"Thousands?"
"Twenty-thousand nine hundred and seventy-three. And that's only counting who I brought to face Frieza. Fear leads to hesitation. Hesitation costs lives. Lives are the currency of war. War is expensive." He stroked her hair.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft tingles from his manipulations. Tonight she would allow herself to indulge in his kindness. She felt warmth on her lips. Her eyes snapped open, meeting a pair of dark eyes. What's going on?
He kissed her, lips sweet upon hers. The parting of their lips left her breathless. He stroked her hair and leaned down to kiss her again. A sweet pleasure pulsed through her as he tenderly explored her lips. The fires in her smoldered. She straddled him and tangled her hands in his silken hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. She felt his erection between her legs but didn't indulge the ache inside.
"Perhaps part of me does."
She sucked in a breath.
He slid inside her. Her body welcomed him back. She rocked her hips over him slowly, enjoying every inch of him sliding in and out. Their panting breaths echoed in the small chamber.
He wound her hair in his fingers and pressed her forehead against his. Their panting moans intermingled. In his eyes, she saw herself reflected. Their lips barely touched yet the electricity surging through her rivaled a lightning bolt.
"Vegeta," she gasped as an orgasm took over her senses. He captured her lips with his. She felt his warmth burst inside her. As her body trembled, he tightened his embrace. When they broke apart he pressed her head against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat calmed her senses.
We came at the same time.
He traced his finger along her jawline and gently pushed her head up. She stared into his eyes. There seemed to be warmth from him she hadn't seen before. The haunting depths of his dark eyes drew her to him until their lips touched.