Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Live Well ❯ The In-Laws ( Chapter 4 )

Live Well

Chapter Four: The In-Laws

“These plebeian mites,” his father muttered, “look at them, son! Over three thousand years since the great legend - our ancestor - and still they come no higher in strength.” He grinned at him, “We will always overpower them - make no mistake of that.” Vegeta wondered whether the few screws left over in his father's skull had finally come loose or not. While he treasured the meetings that he had with the generals, his father, and grandfather, sometimes he didn't think that he'd ever take them seriously enough unless his father stopped muttering to himself as he sometimes did.

The prince let his eyes trail down the length of the table to where his grandfather was displayed on the screen. The man was busy at work, writing and signing reports while he would cast his ears and sometimes eyes out to what was occurring in the meeting room. As Emperor Vegeta, his grandfather traveled throughout the galaxy that they had control over, visiting a new planet almost every day with his empress. In fact, he could see her lounging in the background under huge yellow and pink fans of some bird she must have killed that morning - for she was fond of using the freshest things for even the simplest of tasks. Scratch that, he smirked, she probably killed it this afternoon. The other set of feathers is probably trash by now.

“Prince,” he directed his attention to the emperor who was still idly scribbling away at a document, “state all of the planets that are currently rioting within the Saiyajin Empire.”

“Kanassa-sei, Cretuy-sei, Wanopuleni-sei, and Est-sei,” he said, seeing the empress' eyes brighten as she sat up to pay attention.

“Which is the closest?”

“Kanassa-sei is, sire.”

At this, the emperor signed whatever had been written, and passed it along to an aide, murmuring something to him before sitting straight, and staring right at Vegeta, “Do you think that Kanassa-sei poses a threat in anyway toward the mother planet?”

His brow furrowed, suddenly realizing that his recent marriage had just put him in the emperor's eyes. With a new heir presumably on the way, he had to be sharpened in order to be legible for kingship. Once the emperor stepped down - for Vegeta knew his father was no real threat to the emperor's life - the prince would be crowned as King of Vegeta-sei while his father traipsed around with his mother out in the galaxy. In addition, Emperor Vegeta might have been reconsidering his options for heirs - should the prince become raucous, complacent, or just come to know too much too soon, the emperor would either find a way to off him, or do something to punish him should he prove too strong to do the former. It was already too late to get rid of both him and the king for the emperor was simply too busy for the menial tasks of raising another infant King Heir to the throne. The emperor had made that mistake already, and had to know that the Prince Heir would do better in his mistake's stead.

Vegeta looked down at the information of the planet on the vid-screen in front of him, tapping his index finger before he frowned in concern. The Kanassajin seemed to have a rather formidable army, and though they were weaker, their strength in numbers was great. The rebels had the entire army under their command, and they were preparing to recruit other planets into their cause, “If they manage to lure in those other three planets, we could have a serious bloodbath here, and the Kanassajin are a persuasive race. If they gain an ally with the other planets, they'll just come here in force. It is possible,” he said when he saw that his father looked like he would object to the idea. “The Kanassajin are friendly with many other planets. If they get even one planet to join them, we can't risk them coming down onto Talji'Be or any other major city. The only way we'd be able to deal with them on Vegeta-sei is in the deep desert with Oozaru forces, but there would be no easy way to lead them out into the open like that. An assault of Oozaru on Kanassa-sei would scour the entire planet though, and make it ready for other inhabitants. We could end it right now.”

“What would be most beneficial for the Empire?” His grandfather asked, back to reading through some reports, and then sipped some unidentified drink. Stapling his knuckles, Vegeta studied the few paragraphs that had been made available to him that was on the vid-screen, and his eyebrows lifted substantially when he finished. Curling his hand into a fist, he held back a hateful growl.

“Freeza seems to have wanted it for years. Back during the first rebellion of Kanassa-sei, he tried sending in troops to take it, but the natives proved too much for them.” The prince grinned, “And you got mad, and had a talk with them. I remember because they attended my ascension as if they did nothing wrong.”

“And one of their subjects tried to record your face after the ceremony. You almost ripped their face off before your mother did it for you,” the empress said with a soft smile. Empress Nogao had a round, soft face, and long eyes with lids darkened heavily from black powder. Her thick, pouting lips were black with face paint, and her cheeks bared the symbol of her husband's motif - dark violet snakes coiled to strike. The gown she wore was made of black silk from the rare silk worm of Vegeta-sei. It had been stitched through with glossy white threads to create a spider web-like configuration over the entire overcoat.

He nodded his head to her, grinning when she rose to her feet. No man alive would call his grandmother an old woman - as some of the younger races would assume - for as Saiyajin, their lifespan were in the three hundreds, and his grandmother was only sixty-three. Her youth and beauty was still talked about, and it was no wonder with a face and lips like that. Nogao smiled wider, and leaned in to whisper into the emperor's ear, every little twitch of her lips abruptly seductive, captivating the generals in the room, and drawing their eyes from business to a dark, full mouth. She kissed her husband's temple to his aggravation, and then straightened to nod at her son, “We'll be leaving soon to come and visit. It's been such a long time since our prior reunion.” Her lips pouted, and the generals leaned in closer, “Almost since the little prince's ascension. It would be a shame if we didn't come see the new blood.”

Grinding his fangs together, he kept quiet, hoping that his grandparents wouldn't notice. Kakarotto had been bundled away that morning, and taken away by his mother. He had wanted to reveal everything to her then, but the maids and slaves were still around, watching everything and everyone, and he definitely did not wish to say anything when his wife was there. Vegeta had already said too much, and that smile was gone completely.

---

Tilting her head to the side, Kakarotto sipped at her tea lightly as she read the pamphlet, almost not believing the bombshell that they had just dropped onto her. Her husband had a metabolic disorder that stunted his growth unless he was fed properly every day, and since they were currently married, it was her duty to make sure that the cooks were preparing the right food that he needed, and that he was even eating it! When she had asked the queen why she would need to make sure he was eating it - for surely a grown Saiyajin man would not mind eating while he was starved - she had been told that, as a boy, he had gotten sick of eating things past his limit, and the annoyance that came with eating passed onto adulthood. It had become a battle every day ever since.

Chewing on her tongue, she thought that through before she rose carefully - the weighted red gown that she wore dragged on the ground to create a meter long train behind her, thus inhibiting her gait. Deathly aware of his mother watching her movements, she approached the doctor, and said after some thought, “I'd like to see his charts. Weight charts, blood charts … do you have any x-rays too?” She paused before she looked at a slave standing at the doorway of the medical bay, “And I need to see the diet plan the cooks have for him.” The slave nodded, and left quickly while the doctor spoke with a nurse about the charts that the princess had asked for. Kakarotto didn't look at the queen. Since this diet was her duty, she would have to take pride in her husband's results, and not in what that woman thought of her.

This failure to thrive that her husband possessed was a troubling concept for a leader of the Saiyajin race after all. Though he was of a decent height now, the doctors had predicted that he still had a chance of shrinking into a shorter stature, and that as a child he had been especially small. If they had not caught onto his disease at an early age, the prince would have been very short unless he began to eat better. At present, he was still shorter than average, but the doctors thought that he had more room to grow taller.

Looking over the charts that were given to her, she heard the slave enter in through the door, and held out her hand for the diet plan. The sharp pain in her hand was unexpected, and she looked down at her held out hand to see that a dagger had pierced her palm, and stuck her hand to the countertop. Realizing that she was being attacked, she grabbed the hilt of the dagger with her free hand, and yanked it out before turning around to face a man in black armor, planting the blade into a puckered eye socket. Kakarotto glanced at the queen to make sure she was all right, and discovered that she had not even budged. Kakarotto felt her hand begin to shake, and she grasped the wrist in pain as she bled on the floor, careful to avoid getting any blood on her gown. While she knew that she would not have to worry about getting any bloodstains out of her beautiful gown, she also did knew that her maids would not be appreciative of her carelessness. She jolted in shock when she heard the queen speaking to her, “You should have been more aware of your surroundings, Princess. Since you survived this attack, that's the only advice you'll ever receive.”

“Thank you,” she finally managed to say, “I was foolish …” She knew! She knew that he was after me, and she didn't even raise her voice! Not only do I have to survive my husband, I have to dodge death at every corner, and in every room! I'll have no help from anyone on this - I have to be more alert. Studying the twitching corpse, she looked over at the door - the only entrance and exit of the room - and she said to the doctor, “Make sure he's dead.”

The queen only looked at him once, but the glance made her skin become sallow in recognition, “Duke Paragus?” She looked at the princess before she rose to her feet, “It's lunch time. I'm sure your husband is hungry. I must inform the king of our treason here.” Eyes wide, she watched the queen sweep out of the medical bay regally, but hurried, and Kakarotto clutched tighter at her hand.

Paragus … Isn't he one of my husband's cousins …? She looked at the corpse to see a doctor snap his neck artfully to at least paralyze if not kill him. The doctors began to bundle up the Nobleman, and she swallowed to loosen her tight throat. Betrayal such as this had to have been a normal occurrence in the palace, yet it was still a high crime. The corpse's family had to be interrogated to determine whether the attack had been a conspiracy to take the throne or if the lord had just been insane. After a moment, Kakarotto realized that it wasn't just her hand shaking, and she went to sit down.

When the doctors peeled off her glove to clean and inspect the wound, she ordered for a new set of gloves to be brought for her - a heavier set. The injury was dressed with a type of reinforced green tape made from regeneration fluid. Its construction made it assume the qualities of a scab, keeping infections out and blood in while it would slowly break away to be absorbed through the skin to help heal the stab wound further. Such tape had been made for smaller wounds that didn't constitute for a long soak in a regen-tank. It was expensive, and even more expensive to make, and - while it was available for the common folk - many couldn't afford to buy it in bulk like Saiyajin really needed.

She flexed her hand carefully after it was wrapped, pleased that the numbing effects were already beginning to work on her. When a slave returned with her new gloves, she put them on carefully, and took a deep breath before she rose up to her feet again, glancing at the charts, “Direct me to the kitchens, I'll speak with the chefs myself.” From what she had seen from the charts, he still showed a great deficiency in thiamine and niacin, and she needed to talk to the chefs about it.

---

His stomach growled, and Vegeta blinked a few times in confusion before he grimaced. He had just become aware of the lack of food this past hour, and he wondered where his mother had run off to without feeding him. Surely, it didn't take that long to give his princess a tour. The palace in the city of Najjspi was much larger. Looking away from the new duties that the emperor had given to him, he noticed that she was whispering with his father on the other end of the war room. Vegeta considered calling her over, but she appeared ashen and worried, so he decided that this matter with his father was more important.

Tapping a finger in thought, he watched her a while longer before he went back to the star maps. Emperor Vegeta had just given him command of Kanassa-sei, Cretuy-sei, Wanopuleni-sei, and Est-sei - the rebelling planets of their empire. Often princes received less populated and more controllable planets for preparation to kingship, yet the emperor seemed to believe that his expertise in warfare needed to be honed in real battles, and Vegeta and the king had heartily agreed. The times were growing more violent, and the galaxy would need a firm, powerful emperor for when the universe became too dangerous. Vegeta's pampering was officially over.

Hearing his stomach rumble again, he shifted on his feet before he glanced at his mother again, hoping that she was done talking, but saw that she was leaving with his father. His eyes narrowed before he shrugged it off, and went back to work. She would likely stop by the kitchens soon to get him the huge meals they shoved down his gullet every chance that they got. Pouring himself back into his work, he compared his notes with Nappa, and calculated when the next full moon would be present on Kanassa-sei.

Figuring that he could off the Kanassajin, he began to formulate immigration lanes. The land would still be good for living, the air was especially fresh, and even though the inhabitants would be recently killed, it would still make for a good spot for any filthy rich alien race that wanted to rebuild. Nappa helped plot out several good landing `platforms' in the major cities so that they could get most of the population out of the way with an Oozaru squadron, and perhaps they would be able to eradicate more cities later that night before they returned back to normal. Yet it still left a lot of Kanassajin alive, and the Oozaru forces were trained to their Oozaru forms more.

“We need strong men on this team,” he said as he looked at the map, “five should be enough to get them all.”

Nappa frowned in disapproval, “There are only three-member squads, and three should be enough for one planet, sire.”

“And when they revert back to their normal forms? This is a big planet, and there're a lot of Kanassajin. They're stronger than usual beings - not by much,” he amended when the frown deepened, “but their numbers trouble me.” He pointed at a small paragraph in the text on the Kanassajin's capabilities, “So does this psychic thing. I don't want to miss a single slimy, blue bastard.”

General Nappa conversed with one of the Oozaru squadron leaders - they had been called in to discuss the topic of cleansing the seditious planet, “Can you borrow some men from another squadron? The Prince Heir wants five strong men.”

“I can think of two in the ranks that you would like … but I know a purging team that uses Oozaru might all the time, and they work good together. They would already have the training and know-how to work together. If I just chose five men from the Oozaru ranks, and put them on a team, they would need to do several exercises in order to learn to work together. Bardock and his crew have worked together for twenty-odd years,” the man suddenly shrugged, uncomfortable. “Of course, this is mere speculation on my part. You are privileged to choose whatever team you so desire no matter what my input is.”

“No,” Vegeta raised up his hand in a condoling manner, “I like this idea. You're right in the fact that training a five-man team will take time that we won't have for this assignment. I'd like to interview this team as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sire!” He bowed deeply before he called the other captains to follow him, murmuring and talking among themselves as they exited quietly.

The prince watched them go before his eyes trailed over to where the screen of his grandfather was still on. The empress had returned to her long couch with what looked like a new set of feathers that were pink and green. She had a pink feather in her hand that she was stroking tenderly, her eyes closed as she brushed the end of it against her nose, and smiled. Smirking at the sight of her, he then looked around the room again for his meal, but smelled and saw nothing, and his stomach rumbled again - even louder than before. His fist clenched in embarrassment as he saw several men and even his grandfather pause in confusion.

Immersing himself into his work, he checked the timing of Kanassa-sei's full moon repeatedly to make sure that they had the date right. In the past, not checking for the correct time of a full moon had killed hundreds of thousands of Saiyajin. He did not wish to send troops callously into a battle that they would lose. Doing so would give his grandfather a bad impression, and he didn't know about his grandfather's other heirs, but he wanted to live long enough to sit upon the emperor's throne. Vegeta turned to the screen again when he heard the emperor's voice address him once more, “Prince, have you decided a course of action regarding your new charges?”

Since he was standing, this time, he gave his grandfather a bow - appropriate from the Prince Heir to his emperor - before telling him, “Kanassa-sei will be purged within the week, sire. On the full moon in four days, I'll have sent a team of five to the planet. On Wanopuleni-sei, I'll dispatch a police force to watch the streets. The rebellion there is small, and will be stamped out soon enough - all in the name of keeping the peace. The other two will have our army's garrisons restocked with fresh troops, and bring the troops there back to their homes, but I'll have to leave the commanding officers that know how to deal with those particular species.”

“I see. A team of five? Interesting,” he said, still looking over a contract in front of him. “That trade-in of tired soldiers for new men is sound. Are you hiring your own mercenaries to take care of Wanopuleni-sei, or will you take foot soldiers out of the army?”

“I think that if I hire some men, they could do just as good of a job, and I don't want to waste the army's time on them. They're merely rioting, sire.” He watched the other male nod absently before his eyes finally fell on the prince as if sizing him up, and then the dark eyes were gone again. Vegeta's blood thrilled as he had not received this much attention from the emperor since his ascension to a Prince.

It was hours later that he felt the ache in his stomach again, around the time that the adrenaline of gaining his grandfather's notice ebbed away. That time, it echoed around the room in a torrent, and he clutched at it almost weakly, grimacing at the book in his hand. The only hour in his day that he had to relax in, and his stomach wanted to ruin it by eating. He inspected the timepiece on his scouter, and cursed when he realized that it was already nearing suppertime before he stood up, leaving his study in search of his mother.

When he rounded into his dining hall in search of her, he suddenly remembered that the responsibility of his diet had shifted into the hands of his wife, for she was standing in front of a vast banquet filled with all sorts of colorful foods, and his mouth watered. He lingered just beside the doorway however, analyzing her calm appearance, and the food behind her. Vegeta drummed his fingers over the paneling of the door, and then stepped in closer, “This is a rather late lunch, dear wife.”

“Oh? I thought it was more like … an early dinner,” she said, and then whipped out a fan, covering the lower half of her face, and appearing to inspect him. His ire rose steadily even while he tried to suppress his murderous stomach from growling at her with him, and Vegeta stalked forward. The fan was a shield that hid either her terror or mirth from him. Whether Kakarotto was happy or scared, he did not care, but if she was smiling in any way, he wanted to see it. Tearing the flimsy piece of cloth away - nothing like the dark heavy wood of the fan his mother had given to her last night - and scowled further at the sight of her blank visage. She pursed her lips outward slightly, and then a little devilish grin appeared, “Did you want a kiss, my lord?”

His midsection rumbled again, but suddenly the grin in front of him was much more interesting, and he couldn't settle on tasting the food behind her or the lips only a half a meter away. He stamped away his abrupt arousal, but eyed her lips longer than necessary before he smirked, “Maybe tonight - after you're asleep.”

To his credit, she said nothing for a moment before she nodded, the smile drifting off, “As you please, sire.”

Vegeta opened his mouth again before he closed it, and frowned, realizing something odd that he hadn't thought of before. His grandfather called him `Prince,' his grandmother still had a habit of calling him `little prince' still, his father labeled him `son,' and his mother had cooed all sorts of strange names into his ear as a boy only now starting to call him `Prince' or even `little prince.' These things were normal and right for a Royal Family - especially for one that sometimes had as many as four males named Vegeta in it - but he didn't know what his wife should call him. In public, and among generals, it was proper for royal wives to refer to their royal mates by their position - thus Grandmother would call Grandfather `Emperor.' Usually, the males could throw out whatever names that they so wished at their mates, but they were generally restricted from outright demeaning titles in front of peasantry and citizens lest they think that they could disrespect the royal females in turn. In private, during the rare hours and minutes that the Royal Family was truly alone together, Vegeta had heard his father utter endearing words to the queen, and the same with his grandparents.

However, he had suddenly come upon a strange quandary. Just what did a wife call her husband in private? Try as he might, Vegeta couldn't remember anything that his grandmother or mother had called the emperor and king, and that caused him to begin to worry. He didn't like it when he didn't know something, and he could not find any reason for the empress and queen not to name their husbands fondly. Unless, they're not fond of them, he suddenly thought, and his stomach clenched as he stared down at his own wife.

He walked around her to sit at the table, looking through the food in front of him as slaves began to fill his mug and plates. Picking up his mug after a slave had tested for poison, and the drink had proved true, he smelled it deeply, attempting to enjoy the heady aroma. Softly blowing on the red tea to cool it, he then looked over his shoulder at her, and nodded, “Come join me.” Patiently waiting for the test tasters to finish, he watched as she instantly came to sit across from him at the table. His stomach echoed again, and he closed his eyes, trying to think through the aching, “Why didn't you have lunch ready for me?”

“Your mother told me that you were never partial to eating everything that the cooks gave you, so I've put together a new diet plan for you. There will be less food that you'll have to eat, but I've tried to find foods that are more filling, and I've put more vegetables in your diet to help bring up your niacin and thiamine levels,” his lips twitched in distaste, and she frowned at him. “I talked to your doctors, and they say you've been complaining of fatigue and … pains lately. Those vitamins should help with that - personally, I think they're the reason you're feeling so down, so you need more of both.”

“I don't like vegetables.”

“I don't care,” said Kakarotto bluntly, “you're going to eat them though. They'll help you get better, and then you can worry about getting stronger and studying for kingship.” Vegeta clenched at the tabletop, straining not to throw energy her way in the way that he had heard his father used to do with previous wives. His little dilemma baffled him too much to try physically hurting her. Was she fond of him? It was highly unlikely, and yet, he wondered if he wanted her fondness and affections. Could Vegeta ever want it the way that he desired the same from his mother? This mere girl before him - the one he had taken and practically raped in her sleep - was still the chasm separating him and his dear mother, but maybe he could find some sort of pseudo-bridge through her, and get the warmth of his mother that he so coveted from his new wife. The chill that he felt was all there was presently however, and he at last sipped his red tea to get a different form of heat for a short time.

“Then, I will eat,” he said, setting down his mug, and then grimaced at the selection in front of him. For every rack of meat that he could see, there were two dishes of vegetables alongside it. Finally, he chose a platter that contained reasonably amounts of both, and picked through the vegetables for the tasty meat within, ignoring her sigh. Unfortunately, he soon discovered as he went through the meal that there was a great deal more vegetables than meat, and realized that he would have to eat everything if he were to have a full stomach at the end of it all.

At the end of the meal, he sat back, and sighed heavily, finding himself surprised that he wasn't busting out buttons as he was apt to do after the chefs had shoved the courses down his gullet. Kakarotto stood when she finished her own smaller meal - perhaps some kind of snack - and bustled about the dining hall to make sure every slave and maid were doing things to clean the table before she went to his side, and murmured, “Is everything to your liking? Are you still hungry?”

Sneering, he turned his head away, “I won't eat another bite - I can't without ruining another good shirt. So don't you dare try to make me do it, girl.”

Her hand was on his wrist then, a gently applied pressure, and he looked up at her. She was smiling just slightly as if only humoring him, and he swallowed away the stiffness of his throat as she said, “Of course, my lord. Do you need anything else?”

I don't know. “Nothing.” Grandmother isn't fond of Grandfather, and Mother doesn't show affections to Father. Do they realize this, or are they just fooling themselves when they are whispering nothing into their ears? Do I need you to be amorous, Kakarotto? “I just remembered something though.” She inclined her head slightly, and the large spikes of her hair swayed when he looked at her, but he found himself staring at her swaying hair more than anything else, recalling her head tossing back and forth on her pillow, “My grandparents are returning home. They should be here by next summer. Grandmother always plans her return trips that way; she likes the heat.” She doesn't like my grandfather however. Has she ever shown a spark of interest in him? She blinked a few times, absorbing that information before she nodded in acceptance.

“I suppose it's high time that I learn Royal fan-speak from the queen,” she said, and looked at the timepiece on a mantle across the dining hall. “She must still be busy with interrogations right now though.” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, wondering what she was going on about, and she seemed to see his confusion, “They didn't tell you? I was attacked this morning by a man named Paragus, and I killed him.”

Surging to his feet, he grabbed the front of her gown, and yanked her closer, “You're lying! Duke Paragus is a just man. He would never attack the Royal Family.”

She merely straightened her stance, and a frown settled across her lips and features, totally changing her entire visage. Kakarotto then pulled out her fan to smack his knuckles smartly, making him cringe, and release her. Putting the fan back into the specially made pocket, she told him, “Then I suggest that you talk to the queen about it. She saw the whole thing. I will not have you doubt every word that I utter.”

His eyelid twitched, but he put his fist to the side, “I do not doubt it, but it is a rather unbelievable story. What makes it even more unbelievable is that a first wife survived the first attack upon her person. Who else saw the attack? Where was it?”

“It was in the medical bay with your doctors. I was viewing some of your charts when he came in. I thought he had been the slave that I ordered to bring your previous diet plan.” He began to growl, furious that she had been so careless. The actions of first wives were often ridiculous, but a blunder such as the one she had just described might reflect badly on him as the Prince Heir - or his mother whom had seen the whole thing! Kakarotto raised her chin higher when the first gruff sound exploded from his chest, “If you grieve the loss of your cousin, I shall give the proper apologies to his family should they prove innocent.”

Grunting, he ceased his growls, and rubbed at his forehead, trying to think on all of the things he had just been told. His wife had been attacked by the Duke for an as of yet unknown reason, and she had killed him in retaliation. Mother and Father were likely questioning Paragus' family still - small as it was though - and would not be done doing so for hours. He frowned to himself before he sighed, realizing that his father might need help later on in the week with the quadrant that his grandfather had given to him when he had reached the right age. When Vegeta would begin to receive more responsibilities, he knew that he would have to accept the job of interrogating vicious adversaries of the throne. At that moment however, it was still his father's duty even though he had many more tasks to accomplish than the prince had. Yet, the job of overlooking and conducting an interrogation was a time consuming endeavor, and one that Vegeta knew that his father would follow to the very end - no matter that his other duties were calling.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded to her, and mentally scheduled how and when he could help his father with his quadrant pickle - as Vegeta currently had his own planets to watch over, “Prepare a banquet. Should they prove false and want our place in the Royal Family, Father will find it out, and the banquet will be in our victory of discovering it. Since you're planning the feast, it will be your thanksgiving to the king for his service in this manner. If they are as true and just as I thought Paragus was, then it should serve to be an adequate apology for their loss.”

She ducked her head down in a little bow of acceptance, “As you wish, it shall be done.”

---

As no one had said anything about the matter, Kakarotto came to realize that she would have no bodyguards to call her own, and thus not warn her of any attacks on her person. She was on her own in that respect, and she found herself jumping and twittering at the tiniest of sounds. It was in the huge halls where she looked over her shoulder the most because her footsteps echoed constantly, and it bothered her that she might not hear anyone come upon her. Fists clamped into her black petticoats, she kept them out of her way while she walked, and silently cursed the Saiyajin who thought heavy, black skirts would be ideal for Royals.

She calmed down minutely when she arrived in a different, smaller hallway, and began to practice treading a little more quietly. Kakarotto suddenly felt lucky that the soft slippers that she wore muted footfalls for the most part, and she was soon gliding down the smaller hall with minimal sound. Allowing her skirts to swish naturally, she kept her ears alert to any noises other than the soft crinkle of her lacy skirts. She heard someone speaking softly almost immediately, and she slowed down to discern whether she could determine the owner of the voice. Her eyes widened when she realized she was listening to the queen.

“- attacked. The blade went right through her hand, sticking her to the table, and I thought she was a goner for sure,” Kakarotto froze all together, swallowing shallowly as she recalled what the queen was saying.

A new voice, sultry, feminine, and dark broke through the silence afterward, and she could hear the slight crackle of light speed interference that suggested that the new female was traveling, “And then she killed the duke. I didn't kill until my second day.” There was a hush after that, and Kakarotto made certain that she was absolutely still while she eavesdropped on the two women. “How did the ceremony go?”

“The little thing didn't know what to do at all. I was glad to finally put her on the prince's arm, and send them off. My wrist is sore from smacking her so much. She's having only two of her walls repainted, and keeping the larger image of the fighting King Heir and emperor.”

“Arba, you're not telling me something.”

Another, shorter length of silence resulted afterward before Kakarotto had to lean a bit closer to hear the queen, “She closed her fan before I did, and she didn't black out in the regeneration fluid. She began to breathe it in as if she were a battle worn soldier after the prince wouldn't let her out, and she didn't choke when she traded it in for air. What kind of noblewoman does such things?”

“One that wants to live,” crackled the voice over the whining frequency. “Don't fret so. First wives are notorious for such things. Either they're resigned to their fate, or they fight until their last breath. The latter always breaks eventually, so don't worry, Arba. I'll be coming home soon, and we'll be able to pick the right wife for your son together. This so-called princess must be watched over closely however. Should he grow attached to her in any way, it will be difficult for him to move onto his next wife.”

“I don't think an attachment will become a problem. He hates her with his whole being. He didn't even want to take her up to claim her, and she's pretty enough for him to like, though she has no bust to speak of.” She stiffened, and placed her hands over her breasts, fuming silently, and attempting to reassure herself of her mother telling her that she would have a fine female form once she was old enough - if she ever reached that age. Abruptly, she remembered how her breasts had looked that morning, finding a bodice that could only be buttoned up halfway, but had ended up pressing them into a suitable form. The red marks then became translucent, and she realized that the prince must have been contentedly sucking away at them that night. Kakarotto knew then that he probably didn't mind the current lack of cushion if it could be framed into a state that he could enjoy. Her mind raced with the new information, and formulated several ways in which she might be able to further please him - after all, unfortunately, she knew that she could not sleep through his advances forever, and she would need whatever edge she could get to live longer.

“That's true. He seems to enjoy a woman's body - not a girl's … When was the last time he took one of your petticoats?” Kakarotto jerked to attention, her eyes wide as the mysterious woman continued, “As I recall, he hasn't taken one for a few years.”

“That's still the case. No more are missing, but there are still some limping maids going around. I'm sure some of that fault goes to my husband, of course,” the queen murmured.

“It's normal, Arba, and it's no surprise that they grow so attached to a female companion. He's only now just realizing that you can't be the central female figure in his life anymore. The little prince will have to learn that his concern can't be for his mother, but for his wives and heir. You must push him in the right direction … Arba, it is natural; I assure you. He's actually distancing himself from you sooner than I thought he would since he was so close to you as a child.”

Biting her lip, Kakarotto lowered her eyes, breathing a bit shallowly. So he was talking about his mother …? What kind of family is this? He can't just go and compare me to his mother! She scowled to herself as she listened in, “I know he shouldn't become attached to her, but if I could just find ways that he will take her to his bed without a fight, I will sleep easier knowing that he is working on an heir instead of bastard children with maids dressed in my skirts.”

“Perhaps, he'll work on an heir easier if it is a princess in skirts similar to yours. Talk to the Head Seamstress about fashioning his princesses' gowns after yours. That might be enough to ease him away from thoughts of you.”

“Yes,” the queen said slowly, “it will go much smoother that way.”

I'm not being shoved into those quirky, old-fashioned gowns, she thought. I'll stick with what I have! Kakarotto grimaced when she felt the drag of the train behind her when she walked away, sensing the end of their conversation, Though I'll have to get rid of these senseless trains. They're going to slow me down, and I don't want anything to do that to me.

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Uh … Wow, I'm hungry … and I just found out that one of my older DBZ stories is still getting reviews. XP Of course, I did just stop writing for it abruptly, and people are wondering if I'll ever write for it again, so I guess that's the reason why … but it's still pretty spiffy knowing that.

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