Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ tHe DeStInY oF ChAlLeNgE ❯ A Moment Too Late... ( Chapter 21 )

Chapter 21~ A Moment Too Late…

Last time-

Vegeta followed the gazes of his peers to find himself looking into two porcelain orbs of onyx steel, filled with tempting promises of fulfillment... It was Nakilia. And it was time... to claim what was rightfully his.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Her body was scantily cad in a tight fitting, black satin warrior suit, meant to use more than just weapons of skill, but of image and womanly lure. The sleeves were long, the ends invisible from sight, as she also wore silver gloves, matching the silver boots that hid the end of the legs. There was a diamond shape cut out at her stomach, reaching dangerously low on her abdomen, exposing finely tanned skin and inflicting numerous thoughts of what would be found but inches lower. The peak of the diamond reached right below her breasts, revealing the beginning of the intricate mounds, tempting even prudish men. Small diamonds decorated her as well, from the tips of her fingers to the curve of her calf; they traced her curves, exclaiming every sinful delight she possessed. And just to amplify her sensuality more so, tiny golden patterns of henna (tattoo ink) created designs on her exposed skin, the very lines any man in sight would wish to re-trace.

She was the picture of temptation. He was still just a man.

Vegeta watched her descend the enormous staircase, her every delicate step muffled within the crimson throw of silk that outstretched past the last step. Her eyes met his directly, holding a purpose within their dark depths. Taking note of her audacious mindset to wear the ascension colors, he watched her approach him through the crowd expressionlessly.

Queen Loralie watched her son closely, searching for any sign of recognition in his eyes, any feelings that he bore for the temptress that was quickly honing in on them. It wasn't that she didn't know who the little minx was, oh, no, she knew all too well. It was her son's closest beau, unfortunately. Though she had expressed her dis-gratitude to the Lady Nakilia not to long ago of the impertinent woman's association with her one and only heir, the devious witch just stuck up her nose. But Loralie was not one to control his life, nor contradict his decisions. She had no right. Not after she had failed him those so many years past, the day he slipped from her grasp and into the monster, Frieza's, hands. With resignation, after finding only stoic eyes, void of any and all emotions, she simply turned to await the scene sure to play out right in front of her. If Vegeta refused to offer anything to go on, she would rely on instinct and let it all play out as he deemed it.

Nakilia smirked with glee as she came to stand directly in front of Vegeta, her soon to be King and mate. She let her eyes rove over his ever inch of masculinity, aching to touch the divine beauty he was. The damn man was perfect, and by the gods by the end of the night she'd be worshiping his body from head to toe. She fairly moaned at the thought. Oh, yes, she had won the war, and oh what a great victory it appeared to be.

"Vegeta," she greeted in a sultry purr, almost breathless from the direction of her own thoughts.

"Milady," he responded with a voice that hinted neither favor nor bitterness. Just... well nothing.

The chandelier above them seemed to light the room with renewed vigor, the flames of the candles hung on the ornament burning with a new energy, stretching their tongues higher into the air and reaching out with both shadow and light to touch each face that was housed within the gigantic ballroom. That very illumination highlighted a gleam that within Vegeta's ebony pools as he gazed forthright into Nakilia's eyes.

A gleam that was surprisingly wicked.

Nakilia couldn't discern whether the wickedness would be to her liking or not, she wasn't given the time as the King coincidently made his appearance at that very moment.

"So I see my heir is already starting his duties," the King pronounced with humor, "he seems to already be arranging the `making' of the next heir."

People laughed good-naturedly, joining their King, though most men found his statement more amusing. His mate found no amusement at all, and not surprisingly, was glaring hatefully at him. By the gods, why was she still mad?!

"Quite so," Vegeta agreed, his eyes never leaving Nakilia's.

She squirmed under his scrutiny, but offered a secret smile to him covertly. Nakilia could feel everyone's attention turn to them, and she could barely hide her triumph. He was hers.

"I do say," the King chuckled, "Well then, I believe it would be fitting to announce the ascension of the Saiyan no Ouji and the crowning of the Lady Nakilia to serve as his mate."

Loralie hid her emotions beneath a mask, avoiding from expressing her expected disappointment of her son's choice. God's bones, she didn't know how she'd survive the wench with a crown on her head. She braced the thought that Vegeta would someday understand true love. True bonding. But why had he so easily dismissed...she began to think, but was cut off mid-sentence.

"Then you presume too much."

The King turned swiftly to find the owner of the voice, and was thoroughly shocked to find it was his son.

"What?!" he snarled.

"Don't attempt to feign hearing impairment now, old man, though it would vastly explain your tendency to yelling," Vegeta countered flippantly, his face etched with no tension.

"How dare you disrespect me," King Vegeta bellowed furiously.

"You seem astonished," Vegeta mocked, "and here I thought we understood that I bare no respect for you. And really must you yell, your making such a spectacle of yourself."

"Who do you choose," the King ground out in barely contained rage.

Never had Vegeta reined his temper to a point he too did not react to his father's retorts with screaming on his part. Little did his father know of the feisty vixen that had put him through countless training, he wouldn't of been alive and here if he hadn't learned quickly. The damn woman would've driven him insane!

"That is not a concern of yours."

"As King, it is very much so," the King growled, "Who?!"

The Saiyans witnessed the exchange silently, Loralie most intently as she watched the phenomenon unravel. She was speechless! But Nakilia seemed even more surprised, her face contorted in confusion and anger, as she was lost in a deep daze, her stupor over the situation hilarious to Loralie.

"You are not my King, you have not my allegiance, and you most certainly hold no rights as my sire," Vegeta retorted deathly low, his fists finally showing his anger as they clenched together.

And with that, he turned to leave, walking in purposeful strides away, but was stopped by a feminine screech.

"Vegeta!"

No response.

"Vegeta," Nakilia beseeched angrily, "You can't leave me! I'm to be your mate! Come back at once!"

Vegeta turned, his cape whipping about him as he swiftly closed the distance between Nakilia and himself.

"Mate! You've been nothing but a good fuck, so don't preach to me my responsibility to your soiled ass. You've committed treason to the crown," he snarled, "and I `sentence' you an exile. You've dishonored your bloodline and disgraced the aristocracy of Saiyans, and you most certainly will not lay claim to my name any longer."

This revelation arose several voices, some in defense of the lady and others gossiping of what he spoke.

"But I love you Vegeta! You can't do this to me! You love me to! Don't leave me!"

Her cries fell to deaf ears.

Once again he turned and prowled through the aisle created by the fearful onlookers, watching him pass without a back-glance. He was near the east exit when the King's roar reached his ears. Obviously, his initial shock had passed and his full fledged fury had just bloomed. Oh, goody for him, Vegeta thought, agitated by all his obstacles just to make it to a freakin' door! Could they not see they were ruining his exit, he still had an image to upkeep, and an ego to boast.

"You walk out, and you will loose all privilege to the throne," King Vegeta warned, a deadly undertone lacing his voice.

"So, be it."

Gasps rang through the room.

"I will not tolerate this," the King roared, "I will not permit you."

Turning to look at his father from across the room, Vegeta met his sire's eyes with challenge, as a wide aisle was left to allow the exchange to continue. He let a taunting smirk curl his rebellious lips as he hissed three words that seemed to echo across the entire expanse of the room, the threat lining his words whispering into every crevice of the castle, as he let his energy escalate.

"Then stop me."

A blue aura erupted around his body, his legs spread akimbo, and hands clenched at his sides. Tremors ran through the palace, trickles of energy seeming to trail through the very foundations, gathering into a gigantic mass, centered at where Vegeta stood. His heart pounded harder, letting his life's blood be infused by the energy his power produced. His eyelids clasped shut in unison with more pronounced shaking of the ground beneath him. The Saiyans stared in awe as he continued his ascent, ever reaching to a pinnacle not one present understood. The air surrounding his bulging form cackled with both the power he emitted and the energy it granted within his billowing lungs. The once blue aura was rimmed with an ethereal gold as it stretched its thunderous hands further, displacing the flooring with its flaxen finger tips and disrupting things that had previously been thought solid. As it hefted them to float around Vegeta's form, obeying the energy's whims, the chandelier twisted uncertainly, its candles flames dangerously reaching out, threatening to disappear into air if they were to loose their hold on the wick. Temptation appeared too great for the ever -tasting tongues of fire, fire attracted to a greater fire that was Vegeta, as they were snuffed out from their own curiosity.

Everyone present gasped as they were thrown into darkness from the disappearance of the flames light, and the odd desertion of the aura that had been emitted from the great Saiyan Prince. Their confusion unexpectedly turned to bewilderment, just as the shadows that had only a second prior veiled their eyes transformed to a blinding light of celestial gold. An impenetrable light that whispered with the power it wielded, a power that yielded only to its master, the center of its strength. The foundation of the power itself.

Vegeta.

His unkempt mane was washed over with unseen waves of power, rippling the strands like a furious ocean. An ocean that was gold, a power that was him. A condescending smirk twisted his lips, his pride burning almost as brightly as the energy that reached every corner of the room, shocking spectators at the raw power within their Prince. His now turquoise eyes glittered with challenge, waiting for any foolish enough to prevent his imminent departure. He gloated at everyone's slack jaw, even his sire, and gloried in the smirk of approval, of pride, from his mother. A pride that he was her son. She hadn't shown one sign of shock, even appeared to have expected his transformation. His mother always had a way with keeping her composure in even the most awkward and unusual circumstances. With sure, languorous strides, she sauntered toward him, imitating the smirk he wore.

Many half expected her to transform as well, the ball had been going so... well strange. She never did, but Loralie came to stand in front of her son, her own ki raised to withstand the enormous power that furiously wished to remove her from close vicinity. It was obvious the Saiyan no Ouji had tempered his ki down to accommodate his mother's presence, the glow dimming to a fickle and crackle before soon he was left with only the bulging muscles, golden mane, and discolored eyes. A knowing look from his mother, and Vegeta knew she understood where he was headed. It soothed his granite heart to have the proud Saiyan woman look upon him with such pride. Without a word he turned, his features suddenly transformed to his normal demonic beauty, and took the last steps to reach the door that would grant his departure... the door that would sever his ties to the crown, to his mother.

A crystalline rivulet fell from Loralie's coal black eye, though the aura of arrogance never faltered, as she watched her heir, her son- her pride walk away. Silence ensued his exit, many Saiyans forming ki balls as a means of light, successfully illuminating the enormous ballroom.

"You did not attempt to stop him," a voice accused, a young girl probably who had aspired to claim Vegeta as her own.

"Nor did you," Queen Loralie snapped back, angered that the girl ruined her moment of thought.

"Your motherly loyalty is misplaced, you should have honored our King," a man informed her, as he tried to place blame on someone for the absence of the royal heir.

"Your tongue is misplaced," Loralie said in a deathly calm voice, a threat to disembowel him on the tip of her tongue, "for I see not a King," she continued, averting her gaze to her mate, "but a bastard."

Her eyes shooting daggers, she marched out after her son, daring any to impede her will.

None dare.

*******************

Vegeta couldn't believe the audacity of the bastard, coming into his palace and affronting him as he did. Refusing to listen to the beaten and blabbering man, Vegeta continued toward his destination.

The docking bay.

"You don't understand," Yamcha pleaded, frantically trying to keep up with the determined Prince, "Bulma's in trouble. You have to save her."

"Why haven't you," Vegeta accused, never stopping his swift strides.

"I tried," came the defeated omission.

"And since you failed, you came to me," Vegeta grated out menacingly.

"Yes."

"She's not my concern."

"B-but she is," Yamcha wailed, trailing after Vegeta, holding desperately to the hope that Vegeta would change his mind.

When no response was made, Yamcha knew he would have to forfeit more of his pride. By the gods, he wasn't going to survive the admission to come.

"Th-that night," Yamcha stuttered, "it- it wasn't her."

Vegeta halted; his back rigid and muscles tensed. Yamcha awaited the sure burst of rage.

"What did you say," he breathed in a deadly whisper.

"It wasn't her," Yamcha repeated softly.

"Who then," he asked shortly, bitterness rough in his throat.

"Halie."

Fists clenched tightly, Vegeta continued in an agitated pace, walking purposefully to his ship. Yamcha watched him in dumbfounded silence; he hadn't even noticed the Prince was heading to the docking bay all the while.

"I don't have the time to deal with you," Vegeta shot over his shoulder as he ordered men to prepare the ship for launch.

"O-okay," Yamcha shifted his weight, the eerie calm of the Prince's voice unnerving.

"You are exiled from Vegeta-sei," Vegeta informed blandly, "If you suspend your removal to the time I return, I'll ensure your exile physically, surely you wouldn't want to loose your tail."

Yamcha held his tongue from protesting, he had a feeling it wouldn't turn out for the better of him.

"Thank you," Yamcha said instead, all sincerity in voice.

"I'm not going for you," Vegeta clarified bitterly.

"Perhaps not," Yamcha whispered wistfully, "but I love her."

Sharp onyx eyes turned to him at his words, piercing his flesh with their malicious intent.

"She's mine."

With those final words, Vegeta began to walk up the plank of the ship.

Suddenly a hysterical Nakilia burst into the room, the Queen Loralie in tow, her pace much more reserved in comparison to the crazed woman. While the Queen simply stopped to bid her son an honorable farewell, Nakilia ran clumsily to reach him.

"Vegeta," she cried, "Don't leave me! You can't do this, you love me!"

He heeded none of her words, as he entered the ship, closing the entrance upon his own.

As the Lady Nakilia crumbled at the jilt, the Queen nodded her head in farewell, and Yamcha stood immobile. God's blood, he didn't think it possible, but he knew it was true, as the engines of the ship ignited, immediately lifting the air craft into space.

"He loves her," Yamcha mumbled in a stupor.

Vegeta watched them all from the cockpit, his eyes unseeing, his mind lost to the raging thoughts within.

What if he was too late?