Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Unspoken ❯ Politics ( Chapter 9 )

 

Unspoken

 

 

Chapter 9 - Politics

 

My eyes slowly open to find water surrounding me. Instinctively, I pound my hands against the encasement I am trapped in. Then I see him. Vegeta presses his hand to the glass. My mind begins to clear. I am in the tank in his private chamber. I calm as he shuts the machine down; soon after the water drains. Once it is empty, I remove the mask from my face before Vegeta helps me out.

 

“I thought it was all a dream for a moment,” I whisper. Vegeta hands me a cloth to wash the chemicals off of myself. I do so, and then wrap the fabric around my body.

 

“What was a dream?” His tone is stern, yet it contains a hidden nervousness.

 

“Everything,” I explain simply. “After nights with Brolli I would awaken in a regeneration tank. I thought for a moment I had dreamed meeting you and having the chance to finally see the bastard dead.” As I finish I realize his eyes are averted from mine. I am not surprised. Discussing my past with Brolli has never been a topic easily broached between us.

 

“You hate Brolli, so much that you would never want any part of him to linger after his death, correct?”

 

The question takes me aback. I would assume the answer is obvious. “Of course.” He seems relieved by my confession. It suddenly dawns on me to ask, “You did kill him, didn't you?”

 

He nods, and I feel tears gather in my eyes. Finally. “If only I could have witnessed it,” I sigh aloud as I walk over to his bed to take a seat upon it. Vegeta follows, and lowers himself next to me. “What was wrong with me? What kept me from seeing his execution?”

 

Vegeta swallows, and looks away from me once more. His attitude has been uneven ever since he removed me from the tank. I fear my condition must be serious. “It was as Radditz suspected,” he finally admits. “The drug Brolli gave you poisoned your system. The physician believes it slowly seeped into your bloodstream, causing the delay in the symptoms you experienced. Radditz was wise to take you from the arena when he did. The effects, had you waited, could have been deadly.”

 

I laugh. A cold, hard bitter laugh. Vegeta lifts his head, casting me a surprised expression. “Brolli's final revenge. The son of a bitch wouldn't even let me witness his death. I am sure he is in the afterlife proud he had the final victory.”

 

“I assure you he didn't,” Vegeta announces somewhat out of place. He seems to become more and more uncomfortable around me by the minute. “Get dressed,” he then abruptly orders. “We have matters to discuss.”

 

“Such as?” I ask while returning to my chambers and beginning to dress in one of my comfortable outfits. Vegeta explains what happened after Brolli's death. He reveals that the women had announced their displeasure with their lack of rights. Though I cannot imagine the minority overruling the archaic institution in this case, it should at least cause some friction between the masses. “What will you have me do?” I ask once I finish pulling my pants over the last of my nude flesh.

 

“At the moment, I am not certain there is anything you can do.”

 

His eyes are focusing on my midriff for some reason. I think perhaps his mind is not where it should be for this conversation. “There must be. I have to be of some use so I can fulfill our agreement.”

 

“If I could find a use for you, I would put you to it. However, at the moment you are to remain in my quarters. Radditz and I shall handle the preparations for the forum.” He turns away from me, and heads toward the exit. His dismissal enrages me.

 

“You wouldn't betray me, would you?” I blurt out. It was supposed to be a question I would silently ask of myself, but somehow it was vocalized. No sense in backing down now. “If you plan on going back on our agreement, I would prefer you warn me in advance so I can spend my otherwise wasted time plotting an escape.”

 

He stops in his tracks, his back stiffens. “Have we still so little trust between us?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

He keeps his back to me. For some time he is silent, then he takes up his exit once more. “Do what you believe you must.”

 

“I always do,” I call after him, more angered by the nasty turn of our conversation then the fact that he had once more brushed me off as if I was some servant to be dismissed. But I am, I tell myself. No, even less than a servant. My elation over Brolli's death cannot blind me to that. Nothing can allow me to forget my place. If that happens, I will certainly lose whatever sanity I have left.

 

Some time after Vegeta departs I hear another return. Radditz, I assume. I suppose I should thank him for getting me the medical treatment I needed. Yet, for some reason I do not feel terribly thankful, or civil—especially not when I feel his hands slide much too suggestively up my back.

 

I gasp, and whip my body around. Intending to snap at him for his brazen behavior, I instead find myself face to face with the demon that spawned my now deceased enemy. “Aoiro,” Paragus whispers Brolli's name for me with a hiss that reminds me of the sound snakes from Chikyuu would make. So much for Vegeta's promise to keep me safe.

 

Yet again.

 

I part my lips to demand what insanity brought him to repeat the mistake his son had, when I realized he does not know I can speak. No one other than Vegeta and Radditz do. I have become too lax around them, almost forgetting myself. I snap my jaw shut as quickly as I opened it and take a few steps back from the intruder.

 

“Don't worry. I have no intentions of falling into the same trap my son did. I merely came here to warn you that I hold you as responsible for my son's death as I do your new master, and once I finish with him, I am going to see that you are quite properly punished.” He backs me into a corner, his shadow completely covering me.

 

This kind of intimidation I have come to expect from Brolli's much too intrusive father. Over the years I lived in Brolli's household Paragas appeared regularly, warning his son that his “gentle” way of treating his slaves was dangerous. Paragus was of a mindset that his slaves and servants should all be kept constantly tied down—literally in the case of his women—so they were never left doubting exactly who was in control.

 

He had particularly hated me for that reason. He thought I was his son's only weakness. I happened to agree with him, but Brolli never had. In fact, Paragas once tried to end my life by pushing me off of Brolli's balcony. He had hoped it would appear I had committed suicide. But Brolli caught him while he was dangling me over the edge, it was the first and only time I had ever seen Brolli attack his own father. It was also the last time I ever saw Paragas welcomed in Brolli's home.

 

“My son spoiled you—” he slams his hands against the wall behind me as he leans in to whisper in my ear. Though not an inch of him makes direct contact with my skin, I begin to have visions of Brolli upon me. Though the two men do not resemble each other, their scent and imposing presence are very similar “—treated you more like a bedmate than a slave. I always warned him, but he never listened. Thought you were special.” He laughs, a loud, acidic laugh. “Once your diminutive master is dealt with, do you know what I am going to do with you?” He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.

 

“Kill you, I am sure you are hoping, but that would be too easy. No, I am going to gather a few dozen of Brolli's closest friends, and in honor of him we are all going to drink and pass you around for our entertainment. I'll let then humiliate you, beat you, fuck you—but not kill you. No, just when you think death is upon you, when you think it will finally be all over, I will throw your carcass into a regeneration tank and then pull you back out once you are healed. Then I'll do it all over again the next night, and the night after that and the night after that and the night after that until you realize, you little bitch, just how good you had it with my boy.” He pushes himself from the wall and releases my face. I glide my fingers to my chin to massage it.

 

“And then, once I feel you've suffered adequately, I'll give you right back to Brolli.” My eyes shoot up quizzically. Pargaus merely laughs in response. “You picked the wrong side to support, you stupid slave. You have only assured our victory.”

 

I am left thoroughly perplexed as I watch the elder man depart. Sinking to the floor, I try to take deep breaths to calm myself. How surreal his appearance seemed. I would have thought I had imagined the entire event, had the markings on my face not proven otherwise. Our victory? Deal with Vegeta? Punish me? Give me back to Brolli? The man must be insane with grief if he believes the narcissisms he just spewed. His declarations made absolutely no sense.

 

Pushing myself back to my feet, I realize I have to find Vegeta. I have to tell him what just happened. What he just let happen. I snarl at the realization. I begin to redress into my slave garb. Less than a fucking day after he assured my constant safety I am being accosted once more. “Like you should have trusted him in the first place,” I scold myself. It's more proof that I am still on my own, that I was right to question the trust between us earlier, since there is clearly little of it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Ten thousand.” I finish my first set of pushups with a long breath. I lower my body to my knees and push my hands off the ground. I take a moment to allow my muscles to relax before I rise to my feet. “For as much as you physically resemble your father, your work ethic certainly does not come from him. Nori no doubt bestowed such determination upon you.” My head snaps to the side as I recognize the intruder who dares to speak of my mother.

 

“You have guts coming in here third-class.” I cross my arms over my chest as the taller man pushes himself out of the shadows of the entrance and into my private training facility.

 

“I heard about your call for a public debate regarding the Seriichi. Your mother would be proud you were doing something about it.”

 

“And my father is no doubt rolling over in his grave.” I counter as I walk past the low level warrior toward the adjoining washroom.

 

“I would be proud of each scenario if I were you.” The coldness in the man's voice is expected, but it irks me all the same.

 

“Why are you here, Bardock?” I begin to undress so that I can bathe before returning to Bulma and Radditz.

 

“I merely came to advise you that you have more support for terminating the Seriichi than you think.” I stop undressing and turn around to face my elder. He is now the second person to come to me with such an offer. I suddenly consider that I must appear quite incompetent if my people believe I need all of this aid. “Many of us agree that the indulgence is a collective insult to our people's pride.”

 

“Let me guess, that particular demographic would be among the lower classes that can not afford women from the Seriichi.”

 

Bardock nods, and then clarifies his point further. “The third class is exponentially larger than the elites. Couple our numbers with that of the female population and you will find you have more of the population on your side than against you.” He pauses to clear his throat. “However, closing down the Seriichi will not solve your problem. What you need is to offer more globally advantageous circumstances.”

 

“Such as?” I press. Bardock would not come to see me for the purpose of a casual discussion. He knows I only tolerate him out of respect for my mother. I do not doubt he came with a very specific proposition for me to consider.

 

“Men on this planet outnumber the women five to one. Currently third class men are forced to take regular trips off planet to have their… needs satisfied.” He pauses again. I can tell he is tentative about telling me what he does next. “In fact, some men frequently visit the same woman off planet and have done so for several years. These men would be quite open to having the freedom to bring these women onto the planet, without use of the Seriichi.”

 

My eyes narrow as I contemplate what the old man is attempting to tell me. “Bardock, are you suggesting that some third class Saiya-jin men are taking women as mates from other planets, and that they are hiding it from public knowledge?”

 

“No,” Bardock clears his throat. “Not some, the estimate is actually somewhere over three-quarters of the male population among the third class have claimed mates on what are mostly a collection of four planets populated with women compatible with us. Have you never wondered why a series of half a dozen fertile planets in the Leocen System have never been purged? Your father and his father before him ignored what was happening there, because both feared civil war. While the elites are strongest, they do not have the numbers to beat all third class warriors and a large division of the female population. At least, they can not beat us and still having much of a planet left to rule.”

 

“I—Impossible!” There is no way I could have been ignorant about something like this. “If what you are saying is true, there are countless numbers of half-breeds scattered throughout a neighboring planetary system!”

 

“Not entirely. Many of those half-breeds live on Vegeta-sei. They look enough like our kind not to be recognized as half-Siaya-jin, and those that do not could be considered yet another army of thousands willing to fight to gain the right to live on this planet.”

 

“I do not believe you,” I warn threateningly.

 

Bardock sighs, and then shakes his head. “You have always lived among the elites, my king. It is they who are obsessed with owning a woman's body and nothing else.” His tone immediately sobers. “I thought your mother would have taught you the truth. All of the men on this planet are not like your father.”

 

My eyes narrow, my teeth grind together. “Are the elites aware of this?” I change the subject quickly. Bardock should know better than to bate me where my mother and father are concerned. “I can not believe my father, his father, and the elites would allow our bloodline to be polluted by other species.”

 

“The elites are mostly unaware, but those few that know ignore it. Since they believe third class half-breeds are just as pathetic as third-class purebloods, watering down the weaker of our people is unimportant to them. And as far as your father is concerned, the only reason he knew was because the King has always been the one to assign the purging schedules. Once he learned of the suspicious planets that had never been purged, he began investigating. In time you would have realized it as well.”

 

“Half-breeds.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I do not believe my father, the most stringent man I have ever met when it came to breeding politics, allowed this to go on. He was the one that demanded all women from the Seriichi be sterilized so that they could not bear any half-blooded Saiya-jins!” My jaw snaps closed as my mind fades to a topic that has been consuming far too much of my time as of recent.

 

Bulma.

 

For once I agree with my father's policies. Last night would have never happened if Brolli had just followed the damn rules!

 

“King Vegeta?” Bardock's repetition of my name draws my focus back to him. “Perhaps you do not understand how serious these men are about their mates and sires. All would go to war to keep them, and just as many would stand behind you to garner the chance of bringing them to this planet permanently.”

 

“Why haven't they?” I suddenly see the absurdity of it. “Considering the numbers you cite, why keep up the charade?”

 

“Because we need political support.” Bardock seems somewhat irate that I do not understand his point. “Imagine you are a part of my class for a moment. Imagine deciding to take that alien woman you stole from Brolli as your mate.” He leads my mind in a dangerous direction, but I try to focus regardless. “Would you trust that she's safe on this planet? As soon as a Saiya-jin stronger than you sees her, desires her, you would be helpless to protect her because our laws state that unless bound by a purchase agreement, a possession is claimed by physical strength. So unless we enslave four planets' worth of women, which we third class Saiya-jins neither want nor can afford, we would not be able to keep our women for more than a day when faced with the challenge of an elite.”

 

I see his point. Understanding his point and turning it into law, however, are two completely separate matters. “You are asking me to close the Seriichi, free all enslaved women, and allow alien mates to live among us as welcomed citizens.” I bottom line his request so I am certain we are clear. After he nods, I nearly scream at him, “Are you out of your mind!?”

 

“It could work,” Bardock insists as he takes an almost pleading step closer to me. “You have the numbers to do it.”

 

“It will start a civil war!” I tell him. I have seen the passion on both sides of the issue. This matter will get ugly, and very fast. “Not to mention,” I remind him, “what will the Saiya-jin women think of alien females being taken as mates? They hate that some Seriichi slaves are ensnaring their mates; why would any go along with this?”

 

“Because it will free them like they never have been before.” His tone sobers as his formerly animated hands fall to his side. “Most of our women are being forced to take mates among the elites because they are so few in numbers. Their hatred for the Seriichi arises because after they are forced to bare high-class purebloods and after they are forced to watch their mates take other mistresses, they are refused the right to have their own personal bedmates… Like your mother.”

 

He whispers the last three words with such affection, such longing, such disappointment that I want to fly across the room and strangle him for it. But I do not, because as much as it infuriates me to admit, he is right. I saw first hand my father's degradation of my mother. I would wish that on no other Saiya-jin woman.

 

“I will not bring this up in the debate.” I see the excitement disappear from the man's eyes. Out of sheer perverse pleasure, I pause to allow his disappointment to linger. “But should someone else speak up, I will not object to further discussion.”

 

“Thank you.” Bardock bows slowly before turning to leave. He pauses right before he reaches the exit. “I meant what I said earlier. Your mother would be proud of you.”

 

“Proud of the child who ruined her life?” I scoff, pivoting on my heel so my back is to him. “We both know there was only one son my mother took pride in, and it was not me.”

 

“She loved you.” Bardock uses a word more common among the lower classes than the elites. “You mother never held circumstances against you. It was your father who ruined her life. Not you.”

 

I say nothing more as Bardock finally leaves. I discover I have a new and better understanding of this political issue that has plagued me for years. In many ways I realize Bulma is like my mother. Both were taken from lives they loved to be enslaved by men who cared nothing for them, who abused them, and now it seems, forced children on them. But there is a difference in Bulma's case—I made sure of that last night. My life afforded my mother nothing but misery. Brolli's bastard can never be a similar plague on Bulma.

 

Confidence overpowers me, and I no longer feel any trepidation about my decision. It was the right one, I am certain of it. I am proof of it.

 

I finish undressing. I bathe, and then dress in a clean uniform. Almost the moment I finish, I am once more not alone.

 

“Vegeta,” Radditz addresses me informally. I frown, but make no comment. I am too angry with him at the moment.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” I demand. “I have not seen you since you disappeared with the physician after Bulma's surgery. I assume you took care of him.”

 

“Of course,” Radditz assures me.

 

“You destroyed all the evidence?”

 

“Destroyed all of what evidence?” A female voice causes both my head and Radditz's to jerk toward the door.

 

“What are you doing here?” I ask as Bulma storms over to Radditz and myself.

 

“What evidence were you talking about? Is something going on that you are keeping from me?”

 

“You do not have to be privy to everything Radditz and I do. Regardless of our arrangement you are still a slave, and whatever matters I wish to discuss with my advisor is only your concern if I deem it to be. And what the fuck are you doing wandering the halls by yourself?”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest, and then snorts as me. “Well, wandering the halls could not be any more dangerous than remaining in your room since I just received a visit from Paragas. Not, of course, that I have to share the contents of our one-sided conversation since regardless of our arrangement, I am just a slave and information does not necessarily have to pass between us.”

 

She mocks me, but I am too stunned by her news to react to it. “How did he get to you?”

 

“He walked in the room. It was quite easy since in your every effort to keep me safe you managed to leave me alone without a guard!”

 

I turn to glare at Radditz, even though the fault is mine. I had wanted to get away from her so quickly after removing her from the regeneration tank I had not even considered the fact that she would be alone for some length of time. And even though Brolli was not a danger to her anymore, there still could be others who wanted to do her harm. “What did he want?”

 

“Nothing that really made any sense. He felt compelled to assure me that I am just as responsible for his son's death as you are and that once he deals with you he is coming after me.”

 

“How?” Radditz asks. “How does he plan to deal with Vegeta?”

“I don't know,” she shrugs. “He mentioned something about `supporting the wrong side,' whatever that means.”

 

“Perhaps it has something to do with the political division your father so kindly shared with me.” I look toward Radditz. He seems surprised.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Your father came to see me just before you arrived. He told me an interesting tale about the habits of the third class.”

 

“Third-class mates, you mean?”

 

“You knew?” I snap.

 

He nods. “You know I have close ties with the third class. Live with them for any amount of time and you will begin to notice strange habits.” I growl lowly in my throat. I look back at Bulma expecting her to be aware of this, since it seems I am the only one who was not. I am somewhat relieved to see she is just as surprised as I am. “Did my father leave in one piece?”

 

The question causes me to smirk. Radditz is well aware of my dislike for his father. We have had more than one run-in where the old man barely walked away with his life. “For now.”

 

“Excuse me, but will one of you please explain what these `habits' are that have you both so interested?” As briefly as possible I retell the exchange I had with Bardock moments before. As I finish, I am greeted with the sound of Bulma laughing.

 

“Wow,” she shook her head. “You're all a bunch of fucking hypocrites.”

 

I ignore her outburst and return my attention to Radditz. “If this matter is as serious as your father suggests I may have inadvertently taken us down a path that will ensure a civil war.”

 

“War?” Radditz's eyes widen in disbelief. “Everything we have done to this day has been to avoid war. Brolli's death was but the first piece to fall into place to assure that.”

 

“That was before I knew exactly how divided our people are. Fervor on both sides of the issue may be so heated that they come to a boil when they are presented in a public forum.”

 

“You think that is what Paragas was boasting about? Rallying the elites against you?”

 

I nod. “It would be the large numbers of the third class versus the physical superiority of the elites. Not a decisive battle by any calculation.”

 

“And if that happens? If you go to war,” Bulma interrupts, “what about me? What about all the slaves? We'll be killed in the crossfire!”

 

“That is hardly our concern,” Radditz announces coldly. “We stand to lose millions of our own people.”

 

“But…” I watch as her eyes roam back and forth, astonishment filling them. Slowly she turns away from Radditz and myself and walks over to a corner to no doubt contemplate the ramifications of this news.

 

Once she does so, I lower my voice. “Radditz, you know what preparations need to be made in case such an outcome unfolds tomorrow. Spend the rest of the day and tomorrow taking care of those matters.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He turns to leave, but I quickly stop him.

 

“You didn't answer my question from earlier,” I remind him.

 

“Of course, I took care of any evidence. She will never know what happened last night.”

 

“Then have her things moved to my underground bunker. If war breaks out, I want to keep her close.”

 

“Keep her?” Radditz raises a brow. “What about freeing her as you vowed?”

 

My eyes roam over to her. She is now seated. One arm is wrapped around her stomach, and the other is bent on her thigh. She is holding her forehead, massaging it gently.

 

She is not a foolish woman. Even after years of suffering under Brolli her mind is still surprisingly intact. She has always doubted my vow to free her, and at the moment she has a genuine reason to. I am a man of my word, but now that war is likely, I am forced to reconsider my promise to her. I will not face months or possibly years of blood, sweat and pain alone when I can have her soft curves in my bed every night, acting as a balm to my aches and sufferings. If I am to survive a war with my head clear, I will need her with me, regardless of what I had promised. I will not let her go, at least not until the war is over. But she does not need to know of my intended treachery until it must come to pass.

 

“You have your orders,” I dismiss Radditz. He eyes me warily, but does so without objection. Once he is gone I walk over to Bulma and extend my hand to her. “Come with me.”

 

Slowly her quizzical gaze bounces from my extended hand to my eyes. With more hesitation than I like, she finally takes my hand. I have her follow me onto the nearest balcony. Once outside, I pull her against my chest. My arm circles her upper torso as I grip her tightly enough to keep her well tucked against me. As soon as she is secure, I take to the air.

 

My speed seems to unnerve her, because she wraps her arms around my chest for added security. I enjoy the feel of her this close to me. Had it not been for my strict concentration on my flight path, I do not know that I could have controlled my reaction to her.

 

“There.” I soon reach my desired destination, and lower us to the ground. I carefully place Bulma on her feet beside me. Once she is secure, I monitor her reaction. It is just as I expected.

 

“Why did you bring me here?” I had anticipated this question. Pitifully, during our flight I had only come up with a limited answer.

 

“This is where by chance we met. Had that moment not been so, Brolli would still be alive,” I explain to her. To my surprise she then offers her own conclusion to my premise.

 

“You wish to celebrate?” She is genuinely surprised. “Don't you think there are more important things to be doing right now? You just told me war is on the horizon.”

 

“Then what better reason to partake in some relaxation then now, when it may be the last peace this planet sees for some time.”

 

“When has this planet ever known peace?” I see her bite her sarcastic lip immediately after she speaks. Good, she seems unwilling to cause a fight. Perhaps she too desires momentary liberation from the dregs of life. “What exactly did you have in mind?” She changes her tone to one I find much more appeasing.

 

“The same thing I did the first time I came here.” I reach behind my neck to pull off my cape. I drop my gloves atop it. My armor and boots come next, followed by my uniform. I turn back to the woman to see she is staring at me, though her expression is not as infatuated as I would prefer.

 

I walk into the water. It is a bit colder than I remember, yet still soothing. I lean back into it. My body glides backwards as the liquid ripples over my muscles. I close my eyes and exhale. It is not typical for me to experience relaxation. So I try to savor it for a few minutes before my eyes drift open to see Bulma sitting on the grass with her legs tucked under her. She immediately looks away, leading me to believe she has been watching me.

 

“Are you going to join me?” I ask from my languid position.

 

She returns her gaze to mine. She appears to be considering the offer. “And what assurance do I have that you will keep your hands off me?”

 

I laugh aloud. “Is that what worries you? You think yourself so irresistible I will not be able to control myself, hm?” She puffs out her bottom lip, and I am tempted to fly over and bite it. “What assurance do you want?” I sit up in the water. Her expression turns devious, and before she can even answer, I object. “I will not promise to set you free.”

 

Her scheming expression turns into one of distaste. “Then that proves you do not intend to keep your word.”

 

“I am only a man. Self-control is limited for my gender when faced with a beautiful woman. But I can assure you, I have no intentions of ever hurting you in anyway.”

 

She continues to glare at me. “I have heard that before.”

 

She dares to compare me to Brolli, but I refuse to acknowledge it. “Are you coming in or do I have to drag you in?” I predatorily swim a few feet closer to her.

 

“I thought you just said you wouldn't hurt me?”

 

I push myself out of the water, finished with the banter, now merely wanting to feel her skin against mine. “Are you coming willingly or not?”

 

To my pleasure, she decides to maintain her defiance, so I grab her by the arms and hoist her into the air. She gasps as I swiftly pull her into the water with me, drenching her meager coverings.

 

“Damn you, Vegeta!” She screams as she pounds her fists against me. After a few minutes she tires. Soon her attention turns to the water. “It's cold.” She crosses her arms over her stomach and begins to rub her hands over her biceps as if to prove her point.

 

Magnanimously, I focus my ki to my fingertips. After a minute of concentrating it to raise the temperature of the lake, the woman's shaking ceases and she begins to relax somewhat back into my arms. Apparently resigned to the situation, she glides her fingers over the water's surface. Dipping one hand under, she soon lifts it back up with a handful of water. She splits her fingers to allow streams to trickle through her digits. She repeats the actions several times before trying the sequence with both of her hands. I find myself hypnotized by her movements.

 

Eventually she grows bored with the activity and lowers her arms to float with me in the water. Her head is below my chin, her torso atop mine. Our legs dangle together into the depth of the water. I close my eyes. I never before remember feeling as I do at this moment. I think perhaps this may be as close to a feeling of peace as I have ever experienced, but I quickly push the thought away. I could not find such a moment with a slave.

 

I hear something.

 

My eyes fly open. I bend my body, cupping Bulma within my arms. “Someone's coming.” I whisper in her ear. Knowing her role all too well, she reaches between us to pull off her top and bottoms. She then lifts her hands to tangle them into my hair, pulling my face towards her. I lower my lips to claim hers. My hands slide up her back to tangle my wet fingers in her damp tresses. To my surprise I feel her delicate hands slide down my back to grab onto my ass with a pleasingly firm grip. She hugs herself closer to me as she opens her mouth fully to my invasion. She tastes even better than I recall with our first, more chaste kiss—our only real kiss. I refuse to count anything occurring as a result of our ruse. They were not real. Then again, neither is this.

 

She arches toward me, her wet breasts pressing against my chest. I groan, wanting desperately to pull one into my mouth, to lock her hard nipple between my teeth, to hear her squeal as I slowly increase and decrease pressure against it. It would be such a perfect balance of pain and pleasure she would not know whether to cry for less or more.

 

I have to remind myself to breathe, to focus my senses so as not to be caught off guard by the person approaching us. Of course, that is damn difficult when the woman is assaulting me so exquisitely. I am so hard I fear I may punch a whole through her abdomen for need of penetrating her.

 

“Don't let me interrupt.” Our ruse can finally end now that the interloper has shown herself. I am not certain upon seeing Jicama if I should be pleased or angered that she is the person that disturbed us.

 

Reluctantly I pull my lips away from Bulma. Her expression is dazed. I cannot decide if she is a brilliant actress or simply learning to allow her body to enjoy the pleasure I can offer her. My ego decides to believe the latter. After releasing her, I formally tell her to leave the water and wrap my cape around herself, since her clothes are now lost to the lake. I follow slowly behind, lazily pulling my uniform back on.

 

“What is it you want now, Jicama?” I turn around to face her once I am clothed. I am not a shy person, but it hardly seemed appropriate to speak to the woman while my erection was plain in sight.

 

“Actually, I happened upon you by chance. I just came from my son's compound, not a minute's flight from here. I wanted to get some fresh air after having to take care of his personal affairs.”

 

“Why didn't Paragus handle that?” I find it odd. Men normally handle the financial affairs I am certain Jicama is referring to. I cannot image Paragus relinquishing the right.

 

“He is still in shock, hardly in any condition to handle business matters.” I notice her look past me and over to Bulma. Out of the corner of my eye I see my fiery ningen's eyes ignite in irritation. “Is that her?” Jicama asks, but I am confident she already knows the answer.

 

“She is none of your concern.” I warn her.

 

“I thought she would be prettier.” Bulma's expression turns deadly. The unintended admission of vanity would be amusing if the situation were not so tense. “Anyway,” my icy glare is all the direction Jicama needs to realize the subject of my slave is not one to discuss, “I thought I would just take this opportunity to thank you again for letting me properly bury my son's body. It meant so much to me.”

 

A soon as she finishes speaking I slowly close my eyes and then bend my neck to crack it. I do not have to turn around to know there is a look of betrayal on Bulma's face. She will certainly hate me for granting Brolli a proper burial. I was a fool to think she would never find out. “Is that all, Jicama?”

 

“Yes…” she takes a step closer to me, gliding her hand down my chest to cup my erection. My mind tells me I should be outraged by her boldness, but my body wins in the war of reactions when her strong hand tightly engulfs me through the thin fabric of my uniform. I groan. “Unless you want to ditch the imitation for the real thing. You can be as tough as you like with me, but I won't break like she will.” Her grip tightens almost to a painful degree, but my swollen shaft loves it, has been deprived of such attentions for too long. Much too long, I fear. If I do not push her away I may expel myself too quickly for my ego to bear.

 

“Enough,” I grip her wrist painfully, throwing it away.

 

“Another time then,” she takes the rejection with ease and then steps away from me. “I look forward to seeing you at the debate,” she waves a suggestive hand at me, before taking to the air.

 

I run my hand over my face and through my hair before turning around to face an argument I had hoped to avoid with silence. To my surprise, I am greeted by the sight of a completely naked blue-haired minx. I blink, trying to rally my senses as I allow myself the privilege of looking her over. “W—Why did you take my cape off?” No man in his right mind would question this advantageous turn of events, thereby proving I am not in my right mind.

 

“Why throwing myself at you, of course. If a couple of touches and innuendoes inspired you to allow your enemy to be buried in honor when the son of a bitch should have been desecrated in disgrace, I figure flashing you should be more than enough to give me my freedom.” She punctuates her statement by pulling my cape tightly back around her body. She might have slapped me with the strength of an elite for as jarring as the moment was. “You are just like your father, you can only think with your—”

 

She chokes on her last word because I have my hand around her throat. “Never compare me to him.” My voice is low and threatening. I flick her away from me. She falls to the ground coughing.

 

“Bastard,” she mutters under her breath. “Does the truth hurt?” She lifts her swollen eyes to glare at me, and then dares to continue spewing her venom. “How could you let her give him a proper Saiya-jin burial.” She pushes herself to her feet, only half covering herself with my cape. Her focus is solely on venting her anger. “How could you?” She lifts her hand and slaps me across my face. “How!?” She does it again.

 

I grab her wrist before she can strike me a third time. I shove her against me as I roar, “I do not have to justify anything I do to you!” She struggles, I keep my grip firm. “You know nothing about me!” In the back of my mind, I know what I am about to say is a mistake. I know it will ruin whatever pleasantness she has brought me, as well as destroy whatever future hopes I have for her. However, she crossed the point of no return when she compared me to my father. There was no holding myself back anymore. “You are a goddamn worthless piece of ass! You have spent the last five years bedding my enemy. You should be on your hands and knees thanking me for giving you a second glance, let alone allowing you the opportunity to have your freedom. What the fuck gives you the nerve to question anything I do? I am the goddamn king of one of the strongest species in the universe. You're nothing but a spoiled remnant of a pathetic conquered people!”

 

Silence.

 

She does not respond to my accusation. Not after I make it. Not after I try to goad her into retorting. Not after I pick her up and fly her back to my chambers. Not that night. Not the next morning.

 

The voice I had been so privileged to hear over our short time together returned to silence. She reverted completely to the broken shell I had known only when she was in Brolli's home.

 

Emotionless.

 

Obedient.

 

Yet, underneath I know she is stewing. Her hatred for my people as fresh as the day she was first taken. A part of me assures myself this change was positive. It would prepare her for my refusal to release her. Although I never wanted a passive mistress, I begin to realize I do not care how I have her as long as I have her.

 

The thought only briefly crosses my mind that Brolli must have felt the same way.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~