Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Midnight Storm ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter Four:

 

 

Kyara smiled, pushing her hair back as the wind whipped it around her face. Balin and Ronan took in their surroundings, standing between Kyara and the other, unknown Saiyans. They were doing their job. They were protecting her. Trunks offered his hand and Kyara took it, letting him escort her to the bottom of the steps. Vegeta and his wife, the Earth-born Bulma stood at the top of those steps, beside them, Trunks' fourteen year old sister, Bra.

 

From the bottom step, Trunks spoke, “Father, Mother, Bra, I present Kyara, Daughter of Owain, Princess of the Unseelie.”

 

Trunks didn't catch it, but Bulma's eyes showed surprise momentarily. This puzzled Kyara, as did Bulma's rather unusual hair color and eye color. She had long, waist length blue hair that matched her blue eyes and beautifully pale skin. Her daughter was her spitting image, which made Kyara wonder where Trunks got the lavender hair although his eyes were like his mother's, the azure blue of a summer sky. Kyara's own eyes, one two shades of blue; a shade of sparkling sapphire and the pale blue of a periwinkle; the other, two shades of green: shades of emerald and jade were Unseelie, but Bulma's were Seelie eyes.

 

She could feel the flare of magic, the glamour that she was using to appear more human. Still, Kyara bowed low, kneeling, keeping her eyes on the couple until Vegeta nodded and she rose.

 

“Welcome, princess,” Vegeta said, “I am sure that you and my son have much to tell me, but it can wait until after dinner, can it not?”

Trunks nodded, “Of course, father. I will show that princess and her friends to their rooms.”

 

“That is a servant's job,” Bulma said, “However, I will show the princess to her room and you can show her friends to the soldier's area.”

 

Trunks nodded, but Balin stepped forward, “We are the princess' guards. She goes nowhere without us.”

 

“I give you my word that she will come to no harm.”

 

“Balin, Ronan, follow Trunks. I will go with his mother. All will be fine, I promise.”

 

“Princess, are you sure?” Ronan asked.

 

“Do as I said. She gave her word that I would come to no harm.”

 

 

Balin and Ronan relented, and Kyara started up the steps to Bulma, who bowed slightly and turned, the satin of her dress rustling as she went inside. Kyara had brought clothing, but most of it had been casual dress clothes; jeans and shirts that she felt comfortable in. She had hoped that there would be no need for formal attire, but it seemed that she was mistaken.

 

“So, princess,” Bulma said, walking ahead of her as she started up the palace stairs, towards the rooms, “what brings you to us here on Vegeta?”

 

“My father wishes that should our people ally with yours that we should learn more of each other's culture. Kakarroto stayed behind to learn more of ours.”

 

“He wished to stay with his mate, ChiChi, I presume.”

 

Kyara nodded, “Yes, your highness.”

 

Bulma scoffed, “No need of such formality with me, princess. You can call me Bulma. I- still am not used to being queen.”

 

“Then, if you please, Bulma, drop the `princess.' You may call me Kyara. I'm used to being a princess, but that title has given me little, I'm afraid.”

 

Bulma stopped in front of a door and opened it, pushing the door open and stepping inside. It was a large room; larger than her Gram's living room, larger in fact, than any room Kyara had seen, save for her father's room inside the sithen. It was lavish in every sense of the word; the four poster bed was shrouded in heavy, expensive linen curtains. A heavy desk, vanity, and dresser decorated the walls. A double door led to a balcony that over looked the gardens and another door led to a private bath with an old-fashioned claw tub and shower,

 

“This was my room before Vegeta made me his queen. He had hoped that filling it with Earth decorations would remind me more of my home. It was truly thoughtful of him, but all I really wanted was him. I didn't need things to remind me of what I was leaving behind.”

 

“I am honored, Bulma.”

 

Bulma nodded her head, “I hope to make you feel welcome, Kyara. There will be a ball tonight to welcome you and your friends.”

 

Damn. Just what I'd hoped wouldn't happen.

 

“If you find yourself in need of clothing, I have tailors and stylists to accommodate any style you could wish.”

 

“Again, it is an honor, Bulma. I thank you.”

 

She nodded, “It is no problem, Kyara. It feels good to be around…” she stopped and Kyara sensed that she had been hiding her heritage from many people. She wanted to finish Bulma's sentence, but decided against it.

 

The Fey had this need, almost an unfathomable desire to be around other Fey. They craved the sight and feel of the glowing, polished skin, the magic that surrounded others of their own kind. If Bulma was Seelie Fey that would mean that her son and daughter would be half Seelie as well. Although it seemed that her son was more ruled by his Saiyan heritage. The daughter Kyara had hardly met, so she could not pass judgment on her. Kyara understood this need, especially in this place, and almost wished she hadn't sent both Ronan and Balin away with Trunks.

 

“In any case, I shall send my tailor and stylist along shortly. Of course, with that skin and those eyes of yours, you could wear a potato sack and still be beautiful.”

 

Kyara blushed slightly, “A pretty compliment coming from someone as truly beautiful as you, Bulma.”

 

Bulma chuckled, “I thank you for the compliment, Kyara. It has been long since I was in the presence of someone who truly understood.”

 

Kyara nodded, “Bulma, if you miss it so…”

 

“Planet Vegeta is my home now. I am no longer welcome among them, if that is what you were going to suggest,” Bulma said sadly.

 

“You've hidden your true heritage.”

 

She sighed, “My husband knows, as do a few others, but my son and my daughter remain blissfully ignorant.”

 

“You looked surprised when you first saw me, Bulma. Like you expected some sort of monster, almost. I mean no disrespect, of course.”

 

Bulma nodded, “The stories I remember of the Unseelie are of hideous things- monsters and the like. I didn't think that an Unseelie could be as beautiful as you are.”

 

“You know as well as I that there are monsters residing in either court, Bulma. The Unseelie are just more… accepting of it than your ancestors.”

 

Bulma smiled, “As the reason I was thrown out of the glittering throng finally becomes evident. I fell in love with a Saiyan, bedded him, and became pregnant. It was a misdeed that would have meant death had Vegeta not taken me here, to his home planet where

they could not reach me.”

“Your parents- they did not try to help?”

 

“My father had lived among the humans too long, and my mother who undoubtedly loved him, preferred the comfort of our sithen. I was raised between my father's laboratories and the Seelie court, but when it was noticed that I was gifted with nothing more than a genius intellect, I was often overlooked at the court. So, I began to learn to take my father's place as owner and scientist at Capsule Corporation. Then, the Saiyans came.”

 

“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Kyara finished with a smile.

 

“Please, do not tell my son. He is- ignorant of this and believes himself to be half human. If he were to find out- well, loyalties may change.”

 

“Then that is why- Radditsu is trying to ally and breed with the Seelie. He must know of your heritage and sees Trunks' power as something he wants.”

 

Bulma stopped, “Perhaps. However, Trunks has no magical ability that I am aware of.”

 

Kyara thought for a moment, “Perhaps his Saiyan heritage has been the dominant one, especially since he has been raised as a warrior in the Saiyan way.”

 

Bulma shrugged, “There is much speculation in your words. However, I am afraid that I have no answers for you. My powers are limited to senses, nothing more.”

 

Bulma left and Kyara sat on the bed, pushing the curtains out of the way. So, Bulma was Seelie Fey. This meant that allying with the Unseelie would be harder than first thought, as the two different brands of Fey were sworn enemies. Where they had once, long ago, been one court, now they were two, and hatred ran deep. Kyara hadn't been a glint in her father's eye when this had happened. Her father's father had been alive, but her father had either been an infant, or yet to be born. Either way, the separation of Seelie and Unseelie was nearly ancient history. At twenty-five Kyara was an adult by human standards, but by Fey standards, she was still a child. Balin was centuries old, perhaps more than a thousand years old and Ronan wasn't much younger. Her father, she knew, was about the same age as Ronan.

 

The way the Fey aged was unnatural, the humans said. It seems that their bodies chose an age at which they simply quit aging physically. Usually, somewhere in their sexual prime, during their mid twenties to late thirties, although some remained almost child-like and some grew to be aged and wizened. Kyara had yet to reach that age, and since she was one-quarter human, there was no indication if she ever really would. She did, however, look younger than she was, but only by a few years.

 

When someone knocked on the door, it brought her out of her thoughts.

 

“Uh, come in?” she answered and in swished a Saiyan servant, a pretty girl, really, with long, spiky black hair and large brown eyes.

“Mrs. Bulma says you need a dress for the ball. I've brought some she thought might agree with your look.”

 

Kyara sighed, “Yes. She was right. And your name is?”

 

“I'm sorry, your highness. I was incredibly rude, but my name is Arissa.”

 

“Arissa? You're from Earth, aren't you?”

 

Arissa nodded, “I was a stylist for the Seelie court.”

 

“You came with Bulma?”

 

Arissa nodded, “Bulma and I were friends. When she left, I left.”

 

Kyara stood, sighing, “And I suppose you, too, thought all Unseelie were monsters.”

 

“Actually, not at all. My mother was half-Unseelie. Perhaps you knew her?

Eirianwyn was her name.”

 

Kyara nodded, “The wife of Bledden. He- he exiled her from the Unseelie when he caught her cheating.”

 

Arissa coughed, “Yes. And she committed suicide once I was old enough to take care of myself. She and Bulma's mother were friends.”

 

“I am sorry for that. I hadn't heard.”

 

“It's not your fault, your highness. You weren't but a baby then.”

 

Arissa held up a black, floor length dress, so that she could measure it against Kyara's complexion and threw it to the bed. Black, while a stark and lovely contrast against her skin, wasn't her color. She held up a sapphire gown and considered it thoughtfully, placing it in a second pile. Next was a pale blue-silver gown, made of a shiny, satin material. Arissa handed it to her and nodded, “Put it on.”

 

Not many Fey have a problem with nudity. Kyara pulled off her shirt and her jeans, removing her boots first. As she slid into the dress, she checked to make sure that none of her scars showed. She could hide them with glamour, but it was easier if she didn't have to. Arissa zipped it up and moved Kyara in front of the mirror.

 

“I think it's beautiful. The paleness of your skin is just enough paler than the fabric so that there's a contrast, but it's subtle. And the color brings out both of your eyes.”

 

Kyara nodded, looking at herself in the mirror. For one of the few times that a dress had been selected for her, she was actually happy with the result. Usually, her gowns were selected by her step-mother and usually made so that the step-mother was beautiful and Kyara was plain.

 

“I'll be back with my other stuff in a bit.”

 

“Other stuff?” Kyara inquired.

 

“Oh. Well, that is, Bulma thought that you might like your hair and makeup done as well.”

 

Kyara smiled. Her step-mother had never done that. Kyara had done her own hair and makeup, while the queen had makeup artists and hair stylists. “I'd like that, Arissa.”

 

When she came back carrying two cases, Kyara began to wonder what she had gotten into. She sat in a chair, away from the mirror and Arissa began rolling her hair onto heated rods. Once she was done with that, she began artfully applying makeup. She said nothing as she worked, except for when she commented on how little base she had to use. Once she was done with the makeup and unrolled her hair, she began pulling the curls back from her face, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face. She pulled it back, twisting it as she did, fixing it with small fasteners until they pulled the front, sides, and nape of her hair back a few inches, still allowing the curls to cascade down her back like a silken waterfall.

 

When she pulled back to look at her, she nodded, and Kyara stood, but Arissa wouldn't let her see herself until she had stripped nude, put on the underwear that Arissa had brought her, white lace, and put on the dress. Once that was done, she moved Kyara in front of the mirror. She stared. She recognized the person staring back as herself, but had never seen the person staring back at her. Her eyes glowed, even though she actively tried to make them appear more human. The eye shadow, in shades of beryl, sea foam green, and rimmed in sapphire. Her lips did not need lipstick, as they were already red.

 

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Kyara pulled herself away from the mirror to answer it. When she opened the door, Aragon stood there. He stared for a moment, and Kyara blushed, darkening the light sweep of blush that Arissa had applied.

 

“You are stunning,” he breathed, offering his arm, “Balin sent me to escort you.”

 

“Balin should have come himself.”

 

“Aye,” he said as they began to walk down the hall, “but, he is occupied at the moment. It seems that he is engaged in a little babysitting. He was assigned to escort the Princess Bra.”

 

Kyara stifled a laugh, “Balin? Escorting a fourteen year old?”

 

“Goten said that she asked for him. Balin grudgingly agreed, but he wasn't too overly happy about it.”

 

“Well,” Kyara said, “she is fourteen, Ronan. I was fourteen not too long ago.”

 

“Ah- yes, those were your crush years. Tristan and Donnan were objects of your affection. Your father approved Donnan, but not Tristan.”

 

“I'm surprised you remember. Yes, my father approved of Donnan, but it was because Donnan was strong enough to keep me alive. Even Dogmath feared him. Tristan was strong, but he was a social and political disaster.”

 

Ronan nodded, “Yes, this is true. However, you and Donnan dated for awhile. We all thought that you would be wed, but then you decided you weren't ready for marriage.”

 

“I wasn't, Ronan. I was sixteen. Part of me still loves Donnan, but we weren't meant to be. Nor were you and I. It saddens me, but I am glad that at least you can maintain a friendship with occasional benefits. Donnan still won't speak to me.”

 

Ronan smiled, “Well, Donnan is a fool. He still loves you, though. Before we left, he told Balin that if anything happens to you, he would hold him personally responsible.”

 

Kyara sighed, “If anyone could go against Balin, and have a chance, it's Donnan. My father almost appointed Donnan as Captain of the Guard, but chose Balin, who was more even-tempered and less ruled by emotion.”

 

Ronan nodded, stopping in the middle of the hallway, outside the doors to the ballroom, “Donnan has become Captain in Balin's absence, Kyara. Balin is aware of it and he approves. Still, he is not happy with his current assignment.”

 

“I don't blame him, Ronan. I don't want to be here. However, is Radditsu is attempting what I think he is, he's got to be stopped. Trunks was raised among the Saiyans, with no real Fey warriors around and no…” she stopped.

 

“Why wouldn't he be? He is the son of the Saiyan king.”

 

Kyara sighed, “Pay some attention to his mother tonight, Ronan. Don't say anything to anyone but me.”

 

“Okay,” he said, eyeing her critically.

 

“Trust me, Ronan. Watch the prince as well. See if you can see the same things I do.”

 

Ronan nodded, “It shall be done, princess, but I still don't understand why.”

 

“You will,” she said.

 

He opened the door and walked in with her, holding her arm locked with his. The conversation in the room dropped to a hush and everyone watched them. Balin's eyes widened and he smiled, bowing. Beside him stood Bra, looking effectively like a Homecoming Queen in her red cocktail style dress, her blue hair pulled back into a ponytail held by a red ribbon. Trunks stopped talking to Goten and his eyes followed her. Goten watched as well, but his eyes moved from his friend's to Kyara. Trunks walked away from his friend and met them at the bottom of the stairs leading to the raised thrones. There was one main throne, larger than the other two, set back from the smaller ones slightly, and set higher on a large platform. It was occupied by Vegeta while the other was occupied by his wife.

 

“Welcome, Princess Kyara,” Trunks said.

 

She bowed, separating from Ronan's arm, although he stayed close beside her. Trunks took her hand and escorted her up the stairs. He looked magnificent in his formal uniform- black trousers with a red sash tied at the waist, the ends hanging at his hips, reaching down to his knee. He also wore a deep blue jacket with gold epaulets at the shoulders, and a crisp, tight, high collared white shirt. His feet were covered in black boots, polished to a shine. His lavender hair, which hung to between his shoulder blades, was pulled back into a ponytail at his nape, tied with a black leather bind. The blue jacket was adorned with a shield, woven into the fabric, with a white background and an ornate “V” with vines woven around it. It was the Vegeta family crest. She bowed to Vegeta, who seemed bored and disinterested in the entire situation, and to Bulma, who gave a small bow with her head in return.

 

She rose and turned, descending down the stairs on Trunks' arm, “I see my mother sent Arissa to see you.”

 

Kyara smiled, “Yes. You don't like it?”

 

“Actually, quite the opposite, if you want my opinion. However, I see that I'm not the only one admiring her handiwork.”

 

Kyara looked up and Ronan was staring, the beginnings of jealousy in his eyes. It was odd, because the Fey weren't the type to get jealous. When the music began, Trunks pulled her out onto the dance floor, ignoring Ronan's unpleasant stare. “I don't believe you asked,” Kyara admonished.

 

Trunks grinned, “I apologize. It's just customary that the prince decides who he wants to dance with first.”

 

She shook her head, smiling, “Still, custom or not, one would think that you'd want a willing partner.”

 

Trunks stopped, “If you are unwilling, I will find another partner.”

“No,” she said, “it's not necessary. I am not unwilling.”

 

Once the music ended, Trunks bowed to her and turned away, having to stop to avoid Ronan. He watched the prince walk away before turning to Kyara.

 

“I don't like him,” he said, finally, watching the prince leave to claim another dance.

 

Kyara turned and looked at Ronan, “Why not? You hardly know him.”

 

Ronan shrugged, “I don't like Donnan all that much, either.”

 

“You just don't seem to like any potential suitor, Ronan,” Kyara said tiredly, “You know as well as I that what we had is over.”

 

Ronan bowed his head, “Yes, but I wish to see you make better choices in a possible husband. Donnan was possessive and jealous, and this one- he's part Seelie.”

 

“You see it too?”

 

“I can feel it more than see it,” Ronan replied.

 

“That's why you don't like him. Because he's Seelie.”

 

Ronan had long ago been cast out of the Seelie court for refusing to marry a Seelie princess he hardly liked. A shape-shifter, a rare gift among the Fey, was too powerful not to allow into the Unseelie court. That was long before Kyara's birth, something that she merely heard stories about.

 

“Can you blame me?” he asked.

 

“Can you blame a racist for a hate crime, Ronan? Seriously, the differences between the two courts are minute. In fact, genetically, we're all pretty much the same. The Seelie could do wondrous things; make the grass grow. Things humans considered good. The Unseelie had the darker powers; the powers that took life away, powers they didn't understand. It was humans who long ago termed us Seelie and Unseelie.”

 

“I know our history, Kyara.”

 

“And besides, Ronan, what in the name of the Goddess makes you even think I look on him as a potential mate?”

 

Ronan sighed, “Princess, I am not blind. He looks at you as though he has never looked upon a Fey in his life. His youth was spent on Earth, so he had to of at least heard of our kind. And his mother is Seelie, as well. Full blooded. Surely he knows…”

 

“According to his mother, he believes he is half-human. She was exiled for her love of the Saiyan king.”

 

“Exile means no contact with other Fey, or at least, it did.”

 

Kyara shrugged, “Which means if the Seelie find out we're here, her life could be forfeit.”

 

Balin had come over and he agreed, “I am afraid this situation is a little more precarious than any of us bargained for.”

 

Kyara looked up at Bulma, who was watching the people on the floor of the grand hall. Did she know that by being near them that she could be killed? Her husband and his race had defeated the Seelie, but could he keep her safe if they came after her? Radditsu could supply them with the means of getting here; in fact, he could already have spies in place.

 

Trunks had joined them, “I hope that you are enjoying yourselves.”

 

Balin bowed slightly and Ronan merely nodded, “We are honored that we are included in your festivities,” Balin said, speaking before Ronan could. It wouldn't do to have Ronan insult the prince.

 

Trunks bowed back, his eyes catching Kyara, then going back to Ronan and Balin,

“We received a communication from Kakarroto. There is still no sign of Radditsu and some of his Saiyan guards.”

 

“He is hiding,” Balin said, “perhaps among the Seelie. He is afraid.”

 

Trunks nodded, “My father appointed Kakarroto governor as long as he is among the Unseelie and seeks the advice of their advisors. He's not politically adept, but he is among our strongest fighters.”

 

Trunks reached up, his fingers brushing Kyara's arm as he did so, an innocuous touch, something that was both intended and not. It sent a shimmer of desire through her nerves, up her arm, speeding her heart momentarily. It was like static electricity, a small shock, something that didn't hurt as much as it startled. He brushed a lock of hair that had escaped his bind back behind his ear and motioned to Goten.

 

“We were just debating if we should return and try to find him,” Trunks said.

 

“I do not think it wise,” Balin said, “offending the Seelie by seeking a rapist among them and suggesting they have allied with their enemy could cause a war between the courts.”

 

“And we wouldn't want that,” Ronan said, a hint of sarcasm to his voice.

 

Kyara was aware of the conversation going on, but her eyes were locked on Trunks, trying to reclaim the sensation that occurred at his slight touch. She realized it was probably just the touch- skin-to-skin contact with another Fey, something she had been denied in the six months with Radditsu. At least, that was her rationalization. It had to be that, and nothing more.

 

“Princess, are you alright?” Balin asked.

 

“Huh?” Kyara asked, blinking.

 

“Have you heard anything we've said?” Balin asked, concerned.

 

“Radditsu still missing. War between the courts. I need air.”

 

She turned and left the hall, retreating to the open balcony, where she filled her lungs with the crisp night air, clearing her head, making her sane. She inhaled deeply, letting it go slowly, closing her eyes.

 

“Kyara, are you alright?”

 

It was Ronan, genuine concern in his eyes. His eyes were the grey of a stormy sky, streaked by flecks of gold lightning. It perfectly matched his dark grey hair which hung to his ankles, loose, tucked behind his ears and thrown over his shoulders to cascade down his back.

 

“I'm fine, Ronan. I just- it's hard to explain, but, suddenly, I had to get away.”

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Kyara described what she had felt at the brush of Trunks' fingertips. Ronan listened, keeping his face neutral while she explained. When he reached out to touch her face, she didn't pull away and it was all too much; she had to have release, the touch of another Fey, flesh to flesh.

 

She kissed him first, hard, her tongue entering his mouth, sighing. When they parted, she looked at him, “Ronan, can we…”

 

“Let's get out of here,” he agreed, taking her arm.

 

As they made their excuses: “This princess is not feeling well; space travel must not agree with her,” they worked their way to the door.

 

Kyara loved Ronan, and likely always would, but he wasn't husband material. He could probably keep her alive, but only through his position on the guard. If Dogmath ascended the throne in their lifetime, which was entirely likely, Ronan would be turned away from the guard. Dogmath feared Balin and Donnan too much to risk it.