Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Prince and Princess Diaries ❯ Atariwotsukeru ( Chapter 17 )

Chapter Seventeen: Atariwotsukeru (Give It A Try)

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Vegeta tightened his white collar quickly before he stood in front of the mirror to give himself a good look over. In less than a half an hour his mother's funeral service was going to start, and he wanted to look his best, however amusing.

Taking in his royal attire, he felt mortified for a moment that he did not have the proper black clothing to wear. He had only been home for a day, and he had not gotten the chance to have clothing made.

The sleeves and pant legs were slightly short, and the whole outfit was entirely too tight. The set had been left behind when he had disappeared, and it had not been worn for a long time. It was made for a seventeen or eighteen year-old version of himself, not a twenty-one year old one. He was thankful it fit as good as it did, for he had been expecting much worse.

He growled at the sight of himself in the mirror. He wanted to look his best not only to respect his mother, but to put on a good impression for his mourning wife. No doubt she would be exquisite in her black gown and whatever else she decided to wear along with it. He hoped she would not notice the lack of movement he had, however humorous she would probably find it.

At a sudden knock on his door, he gave himself one last hard look before he strode over and ripped it open in an annoyed fashion. Standing there was a finely dressed manservant that was not Saiya-jin, for everyone was quarantined except for a select few. The man looked Saiya-jin, but he did not sport the obvious tail. He wondered briefly if he was from Anausia-sei, for the two species looked alike.

The man cleared his throat, and at that point Vegeta noticed that someone was standing behind him. He looked over the short man's shoulder, and stiffened at the sight of blue hair. It was Bulma.

Bulma stepped out from behind the man, wishing with all her heart and soul that she did not have to do this. However, it would not look very good for either her or Vegeta if they arrived without being together. She had to act the loving wife, and it would be difficult. She wanted so bad to walk away and leave him there all by himself.

She looked up the few short inches into her husband's face, and was surprised to see something akin to acceptance on his face. Having never seen him look at her like that before, in any way, shape, or form, she stared.

The manservant stood there awkwardly as the couple stared at each other. One was clearly devouring the other, and the other was blushing to the roots of her hair, from what he did not know. He cleared his throat again, attempting to gain their attention. His face was starting to turn red from embarrassment. He had never witnessed something so humiliating in his life, and it made it even more so because the couple was royalty, and royalty never showed affection as far as he knew.

Bulma felt her face flame even more under her black veil when she realized that she had been staring very indecently and very long. Vegeta's mouth turned upwards in a cocky smirk, which made her growl to herself because he seemed a little too cute for her liking when he did that. Damn his sensual mouth and damn his good looks.

Vegeta excused the servant and thanked him for escorting his wife to his door safely. The man bowed and left in a hurry, leaving the two alone as fast as he could. He wondered briefly if the prince was going to ravish his beyond beautiful princess right in the doorway.

Bulma kept her eyes on the carpeted floor, not daring to look at him. She was feeling strange inside, and it disturbed her. It disturbed her even more when her husband offered his arm in a gentlemanly manner, and she was forced to take his arm. He had never acted truly nice to her during her acquaintance with him, and she was getting suspicious and wary.

Vegeta kept his pace slow for his wife as they left his doorway and walked down the corridors. Her dress looked heavy with all the black beadwork and embroidery on it, not to mention all the layers of silk and petticoats. However, he could not help but admire how gorgeous she looked in black. Her skin looked almost white with the contrast, and it made her hair seem such a pure blue that it reminded him of Vegeta-sei's small oceans. Her face was covered with a black veil, as was proper, but he longed to see her face without it. He could tell she sported no makeup, but it was not necessary. She was lovely with or without it.

Bulma let her husband lead her through the long hallways and to the elegant front double doors. She felt his penetrating eyes on her the whole time, but she said nothing. She did not wish to be near him, let alone talk to him. He made her too nervous.

Vegeta stopped at the front doors, seeing a few people gathered there, waiting for the funeral to begin. He noticed a few ladies in elegant black dresses that resembled Bulma's, and several men that were clad in a nobleman's attire. He was thankful that he was not the only one wearing that type of style, however pitiful he looked in it.

Bulma detached her arm from Vegeta's with a little yank and left his side ever so willingly. He scowled at her, but she did not notice as she walked over to two young ladies that were standing together, weeping mournfully. She gathered them into her arms, recognizing them as two of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. A funny thought came to her head when she realized that these girls were her responsibility now that the queen was dead.

They had not long to wait before the bells tolled from the small church, signaling the call to the funeral. Everyone left the palace, Bulma trying to avoid Vegeta but not succeeding. He managed to snag her as she walked outside of the doors. He gave her a triumphant smirk, and she stiffened her knees when they threatened to go out beneath her.

The group of about ten people entered the chapel, where the queen was still tucked away in the glowing altar. Bulma noticed the absence of the king as she sat in the royal pew, her husband next to her. She tried not to sit too close to him, but he was the last to sit, and he made sure he was almost touching her. She did not dare scoot away, in fear of embarrassment.

A priest began speaking shortly after they sat down, and Bulma felt tears well in her eyes and spill as he spoke of all the queen's good doings. He spoke of her kind heart and her gentle soul. How she had been friends with everyone and had no enemies. How she had always taken care of anyone she saw as less fortunate than her, and how she had dedicated so much of her life to the happiness of others.

He spoke of how she had loved her husband and family more than anything in the world. Bulma was earnestly crying by now, and when she lifted her veil to wipe her eyes, she caught a look at Vegeta and was not in the least bit surprised when she saw his face set in stone. It hurt her in a bizarre way, but she ignored it.

Vegeta heard the priest continue talking, but instead he looked over to his quietly sobbing wife. He drew in a deep breath and stared at her left hand clenched in her dress. He swallowed and slowly moved his hand over to her until it lay on top of her own. She jerked her head towards him, a stunned look on her face. He kept all emotion wiped from his face, unwilling to let her know how much he really wanted, no, needed to hold her hand. It was hard sitting here, listening to the priest speak of his angelic mother. It was even harder to fight back the tears that were threatening behind his eyes. He hoped with all his heart that his wife would accept his temporary reprieve from fighting.

Bulma gave him a watery smile and accepted his hand with a squeeze of her own. She knew that it would be hard to hate him when they were both grieving so heavily for Hokora. He might try to hide it, but she could see something in his face that he could not hide. Bulma could be mean and spiteful, but she could not turn down someone in their saddest hour.

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Bulma felt exhaustion take over her body as they left the chapel. Everyone had cried, even the men. Everyone except Vegeta.

She had understood, for a man like him never cried. No doubt he had killed hundreds of people mercilessly without even blinking. It was just sad how his eyes had not even watered. He had kept his face cold and hard the whole service. It was almost as if he had not cared, but she knew deep down inside that he did.

Vegeta held onto her hand even after they left and returned to the palace. It made her nervous, but she did not want to pry her fingers from his. He seemed like he needed to know someone was there, even if it was his unwanted wife.

They were walking back through the halls when something came to her mind. She chewed on her bottom lip as she debated on whether or not to ask him. Would he snap or give her an annoyed look? She finally gathered enough courage as he stopped in front of her door and prepared to leave without a word.

"Um...Vegeta?"

He turned back to her, and she was surprised to see an almost expectant look on his face. She was almost depressed at the thought that she had to turn him down.

"Um...where is your mother going to be kept?"

He blinked, an expected annoyed look overcoming his normally passive features. "Well, there is a tomb where the kings of the past one hundred years have been kept, but there is also a cemetery next to it filled with royalty thousands of years older. My father has to make the choice."

She nodded, still chewing on her bottom lip. "I see. I was just wondering...thank you." She looked at him nervously, wondering what to say without it being awkward. "Um...good night, uh, Vegeta."

She turned to open her door, but she was suddenly caught off guard when she felt his hand grab hers. She felt heat suffuse up her arm, and she turned to him with wide, wary eyes. Why does he make me feel this way?

Vegeta looked away for a moment, wondering what to say without making her say no immediately. Bulma felt a sick feeling gather in the pit of her stomach at the expression on his face.

"Bulma...I was wondering, well, if it is acceptable, if you would have dinner with me tonight...in private."

Bulma almost gasped aloud. He was still holding her hand, and his eyes were pleading with her to say yes. Images instantly flashed through her mind. She felt herself harden as the sight of him almost ravishing her young, innocent fourteen year-old self popped into her mind. She did not trust him, and she certainly did not feel safe with him. Therefore, she would not have dinner with him, especially in private.

"No," she said stiffly.

Vegeta looked away, refusing to be hurt by the little word. "I see. In that case, Bulma, I shall let you retire." He finished with a scowl, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. She felt fear creep up her spine.

He let go of her hand and walked away. She stood there, the hand that he had held clutched to her chest. He looks so sad...but I hate him and I will never, ever trust him.

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Bulma was staring at the pile of food on her dinner plate when she suddenly felt sick. The sight of food was not appealing at all anymore, not with so many thoughts running through her confused mind.

She stood and left the table set up in the middle of her dressing room. She sometimes liked to eat alone, without the company of others. After Hokora's death there had been no one to eat with, not with the king going mad and Vegeta gone.

But now he was back, and the urge to eat with someone else was even more repelled. She did not want to eat with him ever. At least until she trusted him, but, she laughed, that would never happen.

The sun was just starting to set as she shed her clothes and donned a pair of comfortable breeches and a white shirt. She laced knee-high leather boots up tightly, and after finding her sword in its scabbard in her closet, she strapped it onto her trim waist. She had not practiced for a couple days, and she was in the mood for a good hard kata.

She left her room through a door that led to the outside after grabbing a small golden key in her dresser. She stood there for a moment as she looked at the high walls surrounded by young trees and slowly growing ivy. It had been built almost immediately after her arrival to Vegeta-sei, upon the queen's discovery of her love for sword fighting.

But that had been almost four years ago. The small trees that had been planted were growing taller by the day, and the ivy that grew up its walls were almost covering it by now. The double doors that led to it were locked, and the key was in her hand. It was her personal sanctum, and no one was allowed in but her.

She unlocked the sturdy wooden doors and stepped in. She inhaled deeply at the scent of blooming flowers, damp grass, and the cool night air. It was perfect outside, with the sun almost set and the sky turning all sorts of glorious colors. Hokora would have loved to see it.

Bulma closed the doors behind her and locked them, as she always did. It was a precaution, one that had built up at the thought of someone like Vegeta, at least the younger Vegeta, coming in and taking her.

She walked over into the center of the walled area, where the ground was hard-packed from her feet. Off to the right side there were several wooden posts of all shapes and sizes, a place where she practiced balance and control. Off to the left side there was a small storage container that housed a blindfold, some stored water, two smaller, older swords from her younger days, the almost new sword that Chichi had left behind, and some other miscellaneous objects. She had everything she needed for practicing...by herself.

The young princess looked down at her side, where her special sword was nestled safely inside its plain silver scabbard. It was long, missing the ground only by about four inches. It had been handmade by the king's personal Saiya-jin blacksmiths. It was of the finest quality, of the best structure and craftsmanship. In short, it was the most incredible sword that Bulma had ever laid eyes on.

She put her hand on the thick, pure silver handle, and pulled it out slowly, almost as if she was afraid it would break. It slid out with a clean, crisp metallic sound that was almost pleasing to the princess's ears.

It was then that she gave it a good, long, hard look. She did not know why, but she had never taken the chance to just look at it, stare at it and dissect it piece by piece. But now she did.

Bulma held it in front of her horizontally, one hand on each side. With the sun still setting, the silver and metal of the blade glowed and glinted with orange and red. She smiled as she ran her eyes down every crevice indented into the smooth silver handle. It was nothing special, really, but it meant everything to her. Every little piece of silver, metal, and finely hewn jewel meant everything in the world to her...because Hokora had given it to her.

She looked deeply into the four dark blue colored gems imbedded into the hilt, two on each side. Hokora, who had given the sword to her the day before her eighteenth birthday, had told her that she had picked the four jewels out herself for three reasons. One, because it reminded her of her beautiful hair, and two, because they were the very same exact color of her eyes. The last reason had been because blue represented the hue of her inner spirit. She was a calm, composed woman with a quick brain and the wit to match. She used her head and thought before she spoke or acted. She could never bring herself to be mean without reason, and she hated nothing, not even her enemies. She was forgiving and caring. Blue was a soothing, warm color...full of love.

Bulma, upon remembering the words of her deceased mother-in-law, suddenly felt tears fall down her cheeks. She hated nothing...she was full of love.

She felt her hands tremble as the words hit her full force. She hated Vegeta, so much in fact that she wanted him dead. He had committed too many crimes in her mind to be forgiven with just a mere "I forgive you." She could not make herself forgive him and his sins. They were too vast and coldhearted and thoughtless. Too uncaring and hateful.

The tears continued to fall as she fought with herself. How could she be forgiving? She felt like Vegeta deserved to die. He scared her and instilled fear into her heart. She could not trust him and she did not feel safe with him. He had hurt her and their family too much. Had he not?

But what has he really done besides hurt your feelings and scare you and break your trust? Could these things not be forgiven? Or were his crimes too vast and horrible?

Yes. He did not come in time to see his mother one last time, and that is unforgivable, Bulma reasoned with her inner self.

But how is that his fault? the voice in her head replied. He came as soon as he heard word that she was ill. It was not his fault that he did not arrive in time.

Bulma did not want to listen to the words in her head. But what about his treatment of her on their wedding night? He'd had no right to treat her so horribly.

You are right. But he had been a young, foolish, selfish boy then. He is different now. He has changed.

Changed enough for him to care for her? Changed enough for him to realize how much he had hurt her? Changed enough for him to not scare her anymore, to make her trust him, to make her feel happy and loved?

Yes.

Bulma let herself fall to the ground, her sword making a dull thudding noise upon the impact. She watched it as it laid there, all alone and by itself.

Just like her....

Was she strong enough to forgive Vegeta? Would she be able to forgive his sins and crimes against her? Would she be able to live up to Hokora's image of herself? Calm, composed, forgiving, and loving?

She was not sure. It was so hard, so complicated. She was so confused that she did not know what to think. The last thing she wanted to do was let Hokora down. She wanted her mother-in-law to know that both her son and daughter-in-law were happy. And together.

Bulma felt ethereal inner strength infuse her at that moment. She did not know what did it, but something warm filled her being, a strange feeling, but a good one nonetheless. It made her straighten her back and stand tall, something that felt wonderful and carefree. It gave her life new meaning.

She knew then, upon looking at the lighted room next to hers, what she had to do.