Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ The Prince and the Swine ( Chapter 25 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters therein, but I do enjoy manipulating them.

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

The Prince and the Swine

 

 

“Prince Vegeta and Consort.”

 

Vegeta growled, a malicious sound that cracked in the air around him. Of all the things that the herald could have said, consort was the worse. Guest would have been best, even her name would have done, but to announce her as his consort was disastrous and dangerous.

 

He must have done something in his past to piss the herald off, humiliated him or murdered a family member, something that would have encouraged him to risk getting fried on the spot. The man was obviously playing the odds that Vegeta wouldn't risk the wrath of Frieza at the party, and that his plate would be too full after his announcement to seek him out later. He played the odds and won. With one last glare at the traitorous herald Vegeta swept Bulma out into the crowd before they burned her alive with their stares.

 

As they passed, murmurs of shock and awe rippled through the crowd around them, gathering momentum with every word. It crashed upon the buttress of the Cold family as they stood upon their raised dais. Behind them a panel of floor to ceiling windows showcased a dazzling scene of diamond stars cradled in velvet blackness, outlining their reptilian bodies against the darkness, enhancing their oppressive presence.

 

The three Ice-jinn gathered together, a triad of evil that even the coldest of hearts feared. The whispers of gossip died down under the glare of their eyes that watched the Saiyan Prince and his Consort disappear into the waves of people gathered beneath them.

 

King Cold's jaw tightened with ill contained anger as he recognized the tunic that Vegeta wore, and the jewels that adorned it. He could not believe that after so many years of servitude that the dethrone prince would dare to rise up and attempt to claim his place. The title of Prince was a mockery, serving as a humiliating reminder of what he could never be. Instead of breaking under the weight of his ignominy, Vegeta defied them, taking the title as a cloak to wrap around his prideful shoulders, ignoring the sneers of scorn. But to wear the garb of his station in this setting was unforgivable.

 

The King glanced at his sons, his anger lapsing momentarily at the sight. Cooler was cracking his knuckles, looking ready to draw blood at the first imagined insult. Cold sighed deeply, wondering how he had ever sired such a tactless brute. His son had no charm or grace. Instead of instilling fear through manipulation and subtle torment he preferred to throw his weight around, brainless and huffing like a great bull on the hoof.

 

Cooler would never excel in the position of leadership that Frieza had already shown aptitude for. His second born son was a true child of his loins. His grace was unmatched, his wit stunning, and his ability to inspire terror was legendary.

 

King Cold's dark-purple lips stretched in a grimace of a smile that was bone-chilling. Just as the corners of his mouth began to curl in glee they stopped, the smile melting of his face like honey in the sun. Frieza stood next to him, blank, lifeless, utterly void. His cold, hard eyes were unseeing, dismissing the splashing colors and glittering jewels around him. Frieza desired beauty above all things, a precious treasure that he coveted with ardor. But the sights that would normally enthrall him elicited none of the signs of his usual adulation.

 

Cold's smile turned into a frown, as he glared at his son. His ire at Vegeta was forgotten as new problems filtered though his mind. There was something wrong with Frieza, something terrible. That should have filled him with a sense of paternal concern, but it did not. Instead he worried for the state of his empire. He was too old to sire anymore children, and there was no one suitable enough to take the throne once he passed.

 

He could not imagine Cooler attempting anything as complicated as running an empire. Along with being a brute, the boy was an idiot, completely lacking in the mental acuity one needed to rule. That left only Frieza, his second born and most likely to secede him. However, arrangements could be made if either son could not assume the throne upon his death.

 

King Cold eyed his children callously. If Frieza was irreparably damaged from his battle, then it was imperative that he be put down before anyone found out. Things would have to be put to rights quickly before any suggestions of weakness could be forged. An empire could not be lost due to the failings of a few replaceable offspring.

 

Uncaring of the intrigue that was swirling around him, Vegeta led Bulma through the heart of the throng towards the buffet table. The only benefit of attending one of the soirées was the food. At least, it was always expertly prepared and never lacking. The tantalizing food was heaped in mounds, tempting nearby guests with sweet smells and delicious flavors.

 

Bulma was absorbed in the visions of sound and color that surrounding her. Never in her life had she thought that she would attend an alien ball. Creatures of all shapes, sizes and colors swept by her. A crimson woman in a vermillion dress, a black lizard in a violet suit, even a perfectly normal person by Bulma's standards walked by, except that they appeared to be completely asexual.

 

The people around her danced to exotic music, their steps intricate, but graceful. Some lined the walls where they ate or drank, laughing with their partners, and more than once she saw them shoot sly glances her way. Everything seemed normal to her, but the atmosphere was heavy with something dangerous, anticipation was like an offending odor in the air. Since they had walked in the room, every single person was waiting for something---a tiger stalking its prey.

 

Her pace slowed so she could take in everything, but Vegeta insistently tugged on her arm. His fingers were bracket around her wrist like a stamp of possession, and he showed no signs of letting her go. She wondered what could happen to her in the middle of so many people, but she had learned to trust him when it came to the ship's inhabitants. There was no one here that she could trust, no one whom she could be safe with, except Vegeta.

 

She glanced over his shoulder, eager to see where he was leading her. She saw an endless line of tables overflowing with exotic food that made her mouth water. She realized that she had yet to eat that day. She had been so busy with shopping, preparing for the party, and being seduced by Vegeta that she never gotten around to fixing a meal. She picked up her pace, just as eager as he to eat.

 

She was concentrating so hard on their goal that she slammed right into Vegeta's broad back as he came to an abrupt stop. She looked up, her blood turning to ice water in her veins, freezing her heart until she was sure that it would drop out of her chest and into her belly.

 

In front of them stood Zarbon, resplendent in a gold tailored vest with matching slacks. A silken cream shirt bloused down his arms, nipping in at the wrist before dripping in a lacy waterfall. More lace bubbled at his throat, spilling down his front, and was decorated with pearls and diamonds. His usual silver diadem was replaced with an intricately spiraling, gold crown that was encrusted with jewels. He looked every inch a blooded aristocrat, but even with all his finery he still could not outmatch Vegeta's royal poise.

 

He must have realized that because his lips curved into an unbecoming sneer. He quickly wiped it off his face, adopting a blank look that was devised to leave behind as little lines as possible. His amber eyes, however, glowed like corrupted jewels in torchlight when they caught sight of Bulma.

 

Vegeta growled, his body tense and dangerous. The thought of any man looking at Bulma made him angry; the thought of Zarbon looking at her really pissed him off.

 

“What do you want?” Vegeta's words were harsh and clipped. He didn't even take the time to convey an insult, proof to how angry he was.

 

Zarbon observed him coolly, unruffled by the other man's open hostility. In fact he seemed to revel in it, bathing in it unabashedly. Bulma wanted to nudge Vegeta, to tell him not to play the other man's game, but she couldn't without directing more of his attention towards her.

 

“Your companion is very charming in her red dress, but I do prefer her in the throes of agony.”

 

Zarbon pinned her with his burning eyes, spreading cold dread in the pit of her stomach. She edged closer to Vegeta, instinctively seeking him as a shelter of protection. Zarbon's callous reminder of what he had done to her lanced her like a knife to a fetid boil. She felt Vegeta tense; his rock hard muscles become even harder with his hate. She fought to remover herself from her fear, to lend Vegeta her spiritual support. She placed a calming hand in the center of his back between his shoulder blades, reminding him that she was there, solid and comforting.

 

Zarbon noticed the tensing of Vegeta's muscles and the grim set of his features that heralded the Prince's loss of control. Zarbon's mocking grin spread across his lips, delighted malevolence apparent on every vividly beautiful feature of his face.

 

“Every time I approached her with the electro stick her eyes would widen and her pupils dilated so becomingly. Her flesh would quiver delightfully, and when I touched her…Well it sounded like angels falling from heaven. It was beautiful.”

 

Vegeta's hands curled into deadly fists, his tight muscles bunching under his blue tunic. He rocked forward on his toes in a fighter's stance, his firm lips set into an angry grimace. Bulma could feel his lethal intent billowing off of him in waves. His anger was so thick that it trailed down her throat, threatening to suffocate her with hate. She had to do something quickly, before Vegeta did something that he would regret.

 

Taking a deep breath, expanding her lungs, bolstering her courage, she stepped around Vegeta, sliding her hand over his shoulder to rest on his upper chest. Leisurely she cocked her hip, her red lips bowing, amusement tilting them at the corners. Her sparkling eyes pinned Zarbon, no hint of fear or intimidation in their depths.

 

“Really? I found the whole experience to be lacking.”

 

Both men froze, shock at her bold words hardening their bodies. Zarbon's amber gaze shot from Vegeta to Bulma, barely able to hid his astonishment that she had found the courage to speak directly too him, much less challenge him. Slowly Vegeta tilted his head to the side, so he could slash a dark look at her from beneath the thickness of his lashes. The stony anger in his face remained, but Bulma could see the question in his eyes.

 

“I mean if you are going to be tortured you expect some pizzazz, some oomph.” She used her free hand to express herself, thinking of all the big screen goddess she had seen over the years in the old black and white films. They had never been for a loss of words, even when confronted with the villain in the middle of a waltz.

 

“All you did was hold me down and jab me with a stick. There weren't even any chains involved. It wasn't very awe-inspiring at all.”

 

She felt the muscles beneath her hand loosen as her words struck their intended target. Zarbon was dumbfounded. He could no longer hid it. His mouth gaped silently and his eyes bugged. The attractiveness of his features was lost as he gaped at the woman in front of him. Vegeta felt his anger melt away, amusement coming close on its heels. He would have never imagined that a woman would strip Zarbon of his arrogance in just a few well placed words, but Bulma had. She was definitely one of kind.

 

Zarbon regained himself quickly. He snapped his mouth shut, drawing himself up to tower over them. His handsome features hardened, his eyes snapped fire, but still he couldn't believe her words.

 

“What are you saying, woman?”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes, before dragging her gaze down Zarbon's body in a slow, disgusted perusal.

 

“I'm saying, Zarbon, that you just don't measure up. You are too much of a pretty boy to be scary.” Bulma wiggled her fingers for good measure, visibly mocking him.

 

She turned into Vegeta's side, curving her body naturally into his. Automatically his arm came up to grasp her lightly around the waist as she perched herself on his side. Her hand caressed his chest, her fingers brushing against his jeweled medallion.

 

“Now, Vegeta here, he knows how to strike real terror into your heart. You're bad, Zarbon, but he's just plain wicked.” She purred the last, rubbing against Vegeta like a contended cat.

 

Zarbon choked on his tongue, anger and shock strangling his voice. A ring of people had paused to watched the exchange, and now they twittered in amusement at her words. A dusky flush rose up Zarbon's cheeks, outraged that he had been publicly humiliated by some upstart alien girl, and a nothing, throneless prince.

 

The green man straightened, readying for an attack. Vegeta tensed in response, his fingers digging into Bulma's hip in preparation to throw her out of the way if necessary. Bulma braced herself, ready to leap from the fray, knowing distance was the only safety.

 

“Now, what's going on here?”

 

Vegeta whipped around, dragging Bulma with him. The Colds stood before them, their imperious gaze icing everyone in the room. The group of observers stepped back, but they didn't disband, in fact their watchful eyes became even more intense.

 

Bulma's pulse raced as she saw them. She knew that they must be the Colds because of everyone's reaction to them. They stood arrogantly in the center of the room, demanding adoration just by their mere presence.

 

Vegeta lengthened the distance between them, keeping firm grip on her hand. He bowed formally at the waist, but not too deeply Bulma observed. Instinctively, she dropped down into a curtsey, keeping her eyes lowered so not to draw too much attention to herself. Of course that was nearly impossible, especially in her stunning red dress.

 

“Well, well. What a beautiful consort you have chosen for yourself, Prince Vegeta.” The tallest one in the center spoke, his eyes caressing every inch of her skin.

 

His black horns arched towards the ceiling, reminding her of the medieval pictures of the devil she had seen in textbooks. His purple scales glistened under the lamp light, royal velvet slicked with slime. Bulma shuddered as she stared at him, distaste and fear twisting in the pit of her stomach. She was certain that he must be the king, the only one whose shadow of maliciousness stretched further than Frieza's.

 

Vegeta's fingers tightened around hers, and she could feel his dismay from where she was standing.

 

“She's not…

 

“Zarbon is that any way to show respect?”

 

King Cold cut Vegeta off, ignoring him as he strode forward. His intent was to cut between them, separating Vegeta and Bulma from each other. At the last moment, Vegeta yanked on her wrist, pulling her forcefully to his side, nearly knocking her off her feet in an effort to keep them together.

 

King Cold strode passed, seemingly unaware of Vegeta's impertinence, but Bulma sincerely doubted it. Cold paused in front of Zarbon, who had yet to bow in the presence of the royal family.

 

Too late he remembered his mistake. He attempted to bow, but King Cold's blow was too swift. The fastidiously dressed man was knocked off his feet, hitting the ground several yards away and sliding back into the crowd.

 

Bulma gasped in shock, her body numb as Vegeta nudged her behind him protectively. She watched as Zarbon struggled to his feet, a thin line of crimson blood slipping down his chin.

 

King Cold pivoted away from the fallen man, dismissing him as nothing more than a fly that he swatted out of the way. She felt her blood turn icy as he fixed his obsidian gaze on Vegeta. She edged behind the shield of Vegeta's body, feeling slightly foolish, but unable to curb her fear.

 

“Interesting choice of attire, Prince Vegeta. Don't you think, Frieza?”

 

King Cold drifted near, pausing for his son's answer. When a reply wasn't immediate, all heads turned towards the youngest Ice-jinn tyrant. Frieza stood to the side, his gaze unfocused, and his expression chillingly serene.

 

“Frieza,” Cold said sharply to gain his son's attention.

 

Frieza jerked awake, his second set of eye lids blinking with confusion.

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

In the background, quiet whispers laced their way through the crowd, but they quickly died a strangled death when King Cold glared at the observers. Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he looked at his sovereign. There was something wrong with Frieza. He obviously wasn't right. His demeanor was lax, his attention lagging. From the rumors on the ship, it seemed that Frieza had been acting oddly since they picked him up floating in space after his battle.

 

When Vegeta had first set eyes on Frieza he had been shocked. Eighty percent of his body was cybernetic, cold flesh replaced by colder steel. He barely recognized his Lord, the repairs were so extensive. Perhaps he was having trouble recovering from the surgery or maybe the battle damaged more than his body. Vegeta wasn't certain, but he knew for a fact that King Cold was trying to hide the extent of Frieza's abnormalities from the rest of the empire.

 

“Don't you think Vegeta's attire is interesting?”

 

Frieza's eyes flickered over to Vegeta, his gaze nearly empty of thought. The lizard shrugged, uncaring what his subordinate was wearing.

 

King Cold's face hardened into a mixture of disgust, anger and a pinch of fear. He whirled about, pinning his hateful gaze on Vegeta. Bulma thought they were going to burn up in an icy fire right on the spot there was so much anger in the King's eyes. She felt Vegeta tense beneath her hand, and she knew that something terrible was about to happen.

 

“You,” King Cold pointed at Vegeta imperiously, “will come with me immediately.”

 

Without waiting for an answer, he spun away, grabbing Frieza by the arm and sweeping him along behind him. The royal guards flowed around their King as he passed, their grim features pointed towards Vegeta.

 

Apprehensive, Vegeta glanced around him, looking for the nearest soldier. He reached out, latching his strong hand around the back of the neck of a nearby man. He couldn't remember the name of the soldier, but he had been on a few missions with him. Vegeta knew he was strong enough to fight most of the other warriors on the ship, but still weak enough to fear him.

 

“Take her back to my quarters.”

 

Hearing Vegeta's words, Bulma stepped forward in a panic. “What? No, Vegeta. I want to stay with you.”

 

He ignored her, continuing to give his instructions to the man. “You will escort her inside, and guard the door. If you or anyone else touches her, I'll rip off your head and drink you guts. Do I make myself clear?”

 

The man's eyes bulged, but he nodded diligently. Vegeta felt he could trust the man not to touch Bulma, and hopefully if anyone got any ideas about attacking her, he would be strong enough to hold them off for a time.

 

“Vegeta.” Bulma wrapped her slender fingers around Vegeta's bare bicep, gaining his attention. Her blue eyes gazed pleadingly up at him, her face set and pale. “Please, Vegeta. I don't want to leave you alone.”

 

Her words momentarily stilled him. He could understand if she had said that she didn't want to be left alone. After all she had finally learned what a dangerous place the universe was, but that wasn't what she said. She didn't want to leave him alone. She knew something terrible was going to happen to him, and she wanted to protect him from it in any way possible.

 

“Go with him, Bulma. It will be safer for the both of us if you do.” The royal guards surrounded Vegeta, making it known by their presence alone, that if he didn't pick up the pace that they would drag him. He darted a dark look at them before pulling Bulma close to whisper in her ear.

 

“Please.”

 

The word was barely loud enough for her to hear, but the weight of it nearly crushed her. Unable to refuse, she nodded, her eyes filling with crystal tears. She stepped away, next to the man ordered to protect her. She watched as Vegeta was led away by the guards before she allowed herself to be drawn away from the party.

 

She dragged her feet as she walked down the halls, nearly engulfed by her grief. Vegeta had suffered so much in his life, and she hated the fact that she was unable to help him. Much too soon she was at the door to their quarters, the soldier staring at her expectantly.

 

She typed her code in the key pad, too distracted to notice that it didn't beep to confirm her override. The doors slid open, revealing the comfortable living area. She drifted inside, turning to relock the door after it closed, leaving her escort to guard her outside.

 

She lifted the hem of her gown, kicking off her shoes. The carpet was thick and soft tuffs poked up between her toes, massaging the soles of her feet. She looked up, thinking about getting something to drink from the modest bar across the room when she heard a clandestine sound. She twisted her head to the side, her eyes widening at what she saw.

 

Lounging on the white couch, Zarbon had already helped himself to a drink. His full lips were curved into an arrogant smile of victory that lit his eyes like tiny bonfires in hell. She noticed that the blood had been cleaned off his face, and that his clothes were straightened, but she could tell that his pride was still scuffed.

 

Zarbon glanced away to gaze at the drink he swirled in his tumbler. “We have a lot to talk about,” he murmured quietly, his threat clear in the air between them.

 

“I can't imagine about what,” she replied while judging the probability of her escape. Getting away would be unlikely she concluded. She had a feeling that this man was even quicker than Vegeta, someone she could never outrun.

 

Zarbon set his drink down, rising from the couch. His silk clothing sparkled in the light reminding her of worthless fool's gold that littered the beaches back home. She swallowed hard, wondering how long it would be until Vegeta returned. Perhaps she shouldn't have opened her mouth earlier. She had a feeling that she was about to eat her words.

 

“Oh, I'm sure that we are going to have plenty to say.” Zarbon advanced on her, his shadow blocking the light from the lamp, suffocating her in the darkness.