Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. Truly, it's a good thing. No one wants me near all that succulent man flesh. I'd be brought up on molestation charges.

DeNile

Chapter Six

He let them take the woman away from him. Vegeta ignored her frightened looks as they led her away to the other ziggurat. Turned his back when she called out his name. Crossed his arms when she turned to the ass-ugly Pharaoh for reassurance. Hardened his muscles when the queen trailed her fingertips along the exposed bulge of his bicep.

He knew she would be safe. She was their queen, their god, their Kami-damned savior. They would fall to their knees in worship and scurry like dogs to do her bidding, blind to the fact that she was as weak and human as they. That she was nothing more than a woman with unusual hair. Unusual beauty. The kind of beauty that made a man want to get down on his knees and worship her.

Vegeta shook his head. He was a man who prided himself on being unfeeling. He watched entire civilizations burn, the screams of the helpless and innocent echoing in his ears, and not once did he feel badly about it. He didn't dream. Didn't brood. Didn't angst over what couldn't be changed. He was unaffected by a life that would shatter lesser men. He had to be if he wanted to survive. Feelings were for the weak.

Some emotions were acceptable. Rage fueled the mind and body. It fed the spirit when it was near its breaking point. Pride kept a man on his feet long after he should be in a grave. He kept him unbending, unyielding. To serve in Frieza's army a man had to be unbreakable.

Vegeta couldn't describe what he was feeling as he walked away from Bulma, led by the queen to the ziggurat opposite the courtyard from the blue-haired woman's. Almost subconsciously he tracked her ki, a piece of him always centered directly on her with unwavering dedication. He knew her exact position and that she was at rest. The low, licking wave of her ki against his consciousness telling him that she was almost content. They must have taken her directly to a bath, to soothe her fears so easily.

Anger was the most prevalent emotion he could identify. He was intimately familiar with the electrical pops skittering along his synapsis and the growing heat in his chest that bespoke of the rage he was containing under a very thin veneer. Once again he had been regulated to position of slave. He, a prince of an entire world, treated as nothing more than a servant. A servant to a much weaker being no less. These lesser creatures knew of what he was capable. The proof of it was scattered across the desert sand, yet they thought all his immense power was subject to a weak woman's whim. That she merely pointed a dainty finger and he leapt to obey.

It was infuriating. Maddening, even. But not nearly as maddening as the other emotions warring in his psyche. Confusion, admiration…fuck…there might even be a tiny fraction of reverence thrown in there.

Vegeta had lived a long, hard life. Even before his father had given him away to Frieza, his existence wasn't one of a pampered prince. From birth he was conditioned to be self-reliant, to be alone even when surrounded by others. His earliest memories were of being beaten, locked away, and starved. His first lessons were those of betrayal. The ones who were supposed to love him were the ones who hurt him the most.

No one had ever defended him. His father's last words, before handing him over to Frieza, had been to tell Vegeta to not disappoint him. Radditz and Napa had stood by time and time again as their lizard master beat Vegeta down. Members if the Ice-jinn court tittered amongst themselves as he was led to Frieza's private quarters for lessons in discipline. No one had ever said a word in his defense in his entire thirty-three years.

Until one tiny woman. Shorter than he by a few inches, lighter than a feather, and so delicate she would snap if he used even the smallest fraction of his strength against her, and she had stood against a larger foe for him. It was a small meaningless gesture for her. He had seen her snap at strangers dozens of times. Seen her defend family, herself, and friends with her sharp tongue more than once. But for him it was monumental. He told himself that she was merely trying to manipulate the situation. She knew that he was the most powerful creature here, regardless of what those morons thought, and she was just trying to garner his good will so he would protect her. He knew she was extremely intelligent woman. She was protecting herself, nothing more. Those were motivations he could understand. He pushed the rest out of his mind, unable and unwilling to process it fully.

They entered a large open room at the very top of the ziggurat. There were no walls, only pillared archways hung with white cloth that led to balconies. From here he could see the lay of the land in all four directions. Vegeta took a deep breath, noting the smell of eucalyptus from the beeswax candles framing each archway, a natural insect repellent. He liked the openness of it. The knowledge he was only a few steps from an exit at any given time. Ignoring the slaves trailing behind him, he strode towards the balcony facing the courtyard.

He stood at the sandstone balustrade, staring out at the opposite ziggurat. To his right was the third ziggurat that stood between and a little to the back, where it butted up against the river. That was where the Pharaoh resided. Vegeta returned his dark eyes to the palace in front of him. His senses flickered, and he could feel Bulma moving around at the top of the other building.

He still held the time dilation device, hidden in the wide palm of his hand. He examined it in the fading sunlight. It was his ticket back, but back to what? A place where he was equally disrespected, if not more so? A place that kept a record of all his failures? Where his greatest enemy was dead, but not by his own hand as he had vowed countless times. A place where he was utterly alone, the last of his race. The only other, too stupid, too human to understand the amazing legacy bestowed upon him. A mere third class warrior, cloaked in the mantle of the Legendary while Vegeta, the prince of their race, could barely withstand a ten-minute sparring session with him. Indeed, what was there to go back to?

He levitated onto the roof, finding a loosened clay tile. The metal casing of the time dilation device glittered red in the sunlight. Vegeta watched the sun sink below the horizon, blood-red light dancing on the dark waters of the river before the light was snuffed out. Another day gone, and he was still alive. He waited for the pressing sense of despair that settled on his chest every night since Frieza's defeat, but instead he was distracted by thoughts of the woman. Had she cleaned herself in the bath? Did they provide her with silks and satins to cloth herself in? Were they feeding her the most succulent dishes they had to offer? Were they treating her as they should? As a queen. As the goddess they thought her to be.

Shaking his head, he tucked the device into the cubbyhole and fitted the tile back in place.

The torches were lit by the time he entered his room. A large sunken pool in the center of the room had been filled with water, and topless, dark-skinned slave girls were laying out linens and oil. As they hurried about, they flicked him coy little glances from beneath their black lashes, welcoming looks that told him they were there to see to all his needs. He ignored them. Vegeta wasn't unaccustomed to amenities such as these. He'd been bathed many times by alien women. And sometimes he even indulged in them.

But not today. Even though desire crawled beneath his skin like an insidious infection, he knew he wouldn't find his cure between some slave girl's thighs. Besides this wasn't the time to take his ease. The tightening of the skin on his bare back, told him that danger was ever present. The beautiful queen was overseeing the slaves, her eyes glittering as he entered the room. He knew Khama'at wanted him. She didn't bother to hide her greedy, assessing expression as he shucked his training shorts, and waded into the hip-deep pool.

Nudity wasn't something that bothered him, and asking her to leave before bathing would give her an advantage over him. He didn't want her thinking that she affected him in any way, and the best way to prove that was to ignore her completely. He turned his back, scooping up the water to pour it across his chest. Two of the slave girls, with hungry, little smiles curling at the corners of their mouths, joined him, each carrying a soap cake and a sea sponge.

Only the tightening of his muscles gave any indication of his distaste as they started to wash him. His pectorals hardened into deep relief and every perfectly formed abdominal could be seen as his skin drew taunt. The muscles only became more prominent when, with a disappointed twitter, the slave girls scurried out of the bath. Water rippled against his thighs as another body entered the pool. He ignored the queen's approach as he rinsed the soap from his body.

When Khama'at was within striking distance he turned to face her. The water splashed gently against the pale Egyptian alabaster walls of the pool. She was naked. Her bronze skin taking a reddish hue in the torchlight. Her long, black hair hung in an inky sheet to her waist. She had swept it behind her shoulders, leaving her large, pendulous breasts bared. She had round, dark nipples that were puckered with excitement, begging for a man to suckle hungrily at them. Vegeta's dark, unkind eyes took her in with one sweeping glance, then pinned her to the spot, daring her to approach on penalty of death. Her lips curled at the corners like a snake's and she dared another few inches.

"The Pharaoh is a fool to discount you, warrior. Your power….your strength…" Her pink tongue flickered out to taste her lower lip. Or maybe to taste him in the air. She lifted her hand, hovering just above the hardened lines of his chest as she traced the air down his body towards his hips. He didn't move. Only watched her. Studying her for signs of a threat. When he saw nothing to fear, his turned his back on her in a show of disdain that she ignored.

"The Pharaoh has an agenda." Clarity struck Vegeta as he spoke. The Pharaoh did have an agenda, and it had nothing to do with him. His people were suffering under a terrible plague of drought. The Pharaoh needed divine intervention, and thought he saw it in Bulma. If he were under siege by a warring nation, then the Pharaoh would have globbed onto Vegeta instead. The Pharaoh was a fool, seeing only what he wanted to see, but somehow that realization lessened Vegeta's anger.

"I have an agenda as well," Khama'at whispered. Her hot breath brushed his ear, and it took all his self-control not to jerk away.

She was the kind of woman that would have interested him in the past. Cold eyes and a viper smile that assured him that any acts between them would only be exchanges of impersonal pleasure, but instead of desire, her presence only ignited irritated impatience. He wanted her gone, so he could indulge in his own private pastime. From beneath his lashes, his eyes flickered in Bulma's direction.

Khama'at swept a hot, possessive hand over the back of his neck, raising his hackles. He shrugged her off with a growl. She had no right to touch him. He didn't belong to her.

"I'm not interested in courtly games of intrigue."

"What are you interested in?" Khama'at pressed herself to his back, her beasts pillowing on either side of his spine. He stood rigidly as she snuck her hands around his waist, her long fingers dancing along the lines of his abs.

"Not you," he growled. He longed to thrust her away, to break her wrists for daring to put her hands on him, to crush her bones for touching his body with hers, but he learned long ago that his first instinct for violence wasn't always the best one.

The problem was that he wasn't totally unaffected. Disgusted as he was by her, she was still a woman. And it had been a very long time since he had a woman.

She slid her hand down his stomach, over the thrust of his pubic bone, until she cupped his bollocks in her palm. He felt the snake-like curve of her smile against the smooth skin of his shoulder as she tested their weight.

"Not a eunuch." She released them, only to curl her hand around his half hardened cock. "And hungry too."

He turned in her arms, so quickly the water splashed over the rim of the pool. Without a word, he cupped his hands under the generous curves of her ass and hauled her up against him. She wrapped her long legs around his waist with practiced experience, wiggling against him in an effort to mount his cock. He clamped his arms around her so she couldn't move, exiting the pool with the easy grace of a warrior.

Her victorious smile was very white against her bronze skin as he settled her on a backless, stone bench. She lay back, her legs spread and draped over his thick thighs as he straddled the bench with her. He rose over her, bracing one hand so it pinned her long hair against the stone, forcing her to remain reclined. Without an ounce of warning or preparation he thrust three fingers into her. She arched with a gasp, her mouth rounding, and her eyes glazing with pleasure.

He leaned forward until his chest brushed against the aroused tips of her nipples. When he didn't move his fingers, her eyes refocused on the drawn, detached lines of his face. Once he was sure he had her undivided attention, he withdrew his fingers and took a long exaggerated whiff.

For the first time, emotion entered his expression. His lips pulled down into a grimace of disgust, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth as if repressing a gag reflex. "Just as I suspected. Loose and sloppy and smells of disease."

There were shocked twitters from the slave girls who had retreated to the edges of the room to await his pleasure. Pinned beneath him, the queen's expression suffused with outrage, eclipsing the victory that had been present only seconds before.

She tried to strike him, but Vegeta deflected her easily. He rose from the bench, sweeping her to the floor in the same movement. She landed with a loud huff.

"Now, get out. Take the other palace whores with you."

He watched dispassionately, as she scrambled to her feet. There was no doubt that the queen had never been rejected, especially so callously. Khama'at was a beautiful woman, used to practicing her wiles to get what she wanted. Undoubtedly, her rage was great, but by the time she drew herself up to her full, haughty height her queenly, calculating mask was firmly in place.

"A man who prefers men then."

His only response was to raise a disdainful brow.

She shrugged one shoulder gracefully. "All men hungry for something. A man as commanding such as you must desire something."

"I've made myself clear. You have nothing I desire. Now take yourself and go. I will not tell you again." The threat was clear. If she did not remove herself, she would become a forgotten stain on the floor.

Her chin high, she marched across the room. One of the slaves hurried to gather up her clothes, as she swept past the heap on the floor. When the queen drew near the stairs, Vegeta called out with perverse licentiousness, "Leave the virgins. I like my cunt to be hot and tight."

Impossibly, the straight line of the queen's spine became more rigid as she descended the stairs. Not one slave stayed behind, though they all cast him mournful glances as they exited.

She stood hip deep in the bath, the glowing torchlight flickering across her beautiful body with sensual eroticism. The perfect alabaster of her skin was in sharp contrast to the ruddy, brown-skinned women circling her. She was a finished piece of art among unbaked blobs of clay.

He had to see her after the queen's visit. He had to cleanse his palate. He felt filthy. Not an uncommon feeling. It was a sensation he had lived with his entire life. Until he came to earth. Until he seen her. Somehow she made him feel clean, and he found himself unable to get enough of the sensation of lightness that expanded in his chest whenever she was near.

She illuminated a darkness inside him. Touched places inside him he never knew existed. He stalked from one pillar to the next, watching her with hooded eyes. Always watching her, even when she wasn't looking. Especially when she wasn't looking.

She had beautiful skin, soft as silk. The few times he had touched her had infected him like an addiction. He tried to resist, prevent himself from indulging in the liquid sensation of her skin against his, but he found himself craving it at the oddest times. Reaching for her when he shouldn't. Using the excuse of backing her into walls as a reason to put his hands on her.

The scent of lotus flowers tickled his senses as the breeze from the river fluttered the blue, diaphanous hangings in the pillared archways. They rippled, teasingly revealing then jealously veiling her. Snapshots of her in various erotic poses for him to imprint in his mind and carry in his memory for a lifetime.

Bulma. He tasted her name on his lips, knowing he could never have it.