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Chapter Text

The electronic hum the buzzed throughout the training room was the only thing that gave any semblance of life to the space.

Sighing, Granolah smacked his head against the deep red wall. There were barely any lights in the facility; a void hung above the soldiers-in-training as they stretched and chatted with one another. The frown of the young boys face twisted into a scowl.

The door next to him opened with a gust of wind, with caused the Cerealian’s mood to sour even further.

‘Oh great, Vegeta’s here…’ He thought derisively; Prince Vegeta always liked to make a dramatic entrance. He was always the last one to show up to training sessions; when he arrived, everyone’s attention was on him.

Training for the youth squadron was supposed to start at 0700 sharp, but of course, the prince would always show up a half hour later; purely for his own ego.

Obviously, the captain and other trainees were beyond annoyed by this blatant disregard for the rules or their time. Unfortunately, they were powerless to do anything about it; Vegeta IV was next in line for the crown.

Curious murmurs fluttered through the crowd of kids. In response, Granolah turned to look at who’s just arrived.

There were two new faces; Prince Vegeta, dressed in his blue training uniform and trademark smug aura, and a younger boy that Granolah hadn’t seen before…

The boy was slightly shorter than Vegeta, but looked similar; His hair was shorter and he had a single bang that hung between his eyes. His eyes were large, a nervous expression plastered on his face as he looked around the room.

Realization hit the Cerealian; this was Prince Tarble! Vegeta’s younger brother. Granolah had heard of him, obviously, but this was the first time he’d seen the younger boy in person. This made sense, Tarble was a few years younger than his brother, so he’s been trained privately for the last couple of years.

’So he’s probably around 10 or something’ Granolah wondered mentally, a touch gaurded. The younger boy hadn’t done anything yet, but based on past interactions with his brother and father…

Expectations weren’t high…

In his nervous glancing around the room, Tarble’s gaze had landed on Granolah, which made him drop his frown into a neutral expression.

Apparently, that was notably different to the rest of the trainees reactions; Tarble’s posture straightened a fraction, and he gave a polite head nod to the older boy.

That was a shock. The gesture was small, but compared to how the rest of his family acted, it was practically a bow.

Thrown off for a second, Granolah returned the nod with one of his own, which was enough to seemingly calm the younger prince.

After a brief introduction for the younger prince, training began. Because of how new he was, Tarble was paired up with Granolah when they started sparring; Vegeta was paired with Raditz, a friend of the prince and son of the man who ‘spared’ Granolah.

The fight started with the two boys getting into the battle stance. Another nod was shared between the two.

’Haven’t even spoken to him directly yet, and he’s already way easier to talk to than Vegeta!’ Granolah thought with a small laugh. The instructor shouted at the group to start sparring, and they were off.

The first thing the green haired boy noticed; the younger prince was much quicker than his brother. While Vegeta would often brute strength his way through fights/opponents, Tarble tended to favor quicker movements. Less pure force, but more strike in succession.

He also didn’t taunt his opponent. Vegeta would have a snide insult for every move Granolah made. Conversely, the younger prince was… pretty complimentary? Anytime the Cerealian would land a hit on him, the younger boy would either grunt in pain or compliment his technique. Strange but, again, infinitely better than his brother.

—

Morning training concluded, and the soldiers and trainees had left for either breakfast or some other miscellaneous activity.

Granolah had been wandering around in the hallway of the domed building where the training ground was located, training to find the canteen. He was hungry of course, but that wasn’t his only goal.

His mother had been sent to work in the kitchens somewhere on Planet Vegeta, and he desperately wished to visit her. He got to see her at the end of the day, but by then, she was too tired to do anything before shuffling off to bed to repeat her grueling routine again.

“I promise, mother, I’ll get you out of here. I’ll free us both…” He whispered to himself; hearing the words out loud kept the goal at the forefront of his mind.

Suddenly, he stopped. He realized he’d forgotten his water back in the training room.

Grumbling as he walked, he eventual made his way back to the training room. He opened the door, and a surprising site greeted him.

Prince Tarble was utilizing the training dummies that appeared out of the floor. In the three years Granolah had been on this planet, he’d seen very few of the Saiyan trainees use the dummies, much less a prince.

But here he was; delivering several fast, precise strikes against the dented metal body of his inanimate metal foe.

’Damn, he’s more intense about this than I thought’ A sense of respect formed toward the younger boy.

Noticing he wasn’t alone, Tarble stopped and turned to the other. Seeing it was Granolah, he greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, Granolah, right?” The prince said, taking several deep breathes to calm down.

Genuinely surprised that the prince remembered his name, Granolah smiled, “Yeah. Sorry to interrupt ya, remembered I forgot something…” His words trailed off as he started searching around the room for his forgotten water.

With a laugh, Tarble assured him, “It’s fine! I just wanted to go over some moves they taught us earlier. I thought I was kind of off…”

“Nah, you were fine,” Granolah said off handedly as he found his water, “I thought you were pretty good, actually!”

A large, if bashful smile spread across Tarble’s face. “R-really? Thank you.”

The conversation ended there, save for a quick ‘goodbye’ as the Cerealian left the training room. As he walked, two thoughts struck Granolah:

’Man, Tarble seemed real surprised when I told him he was a good fighter.’

&

’He’s nothing like I expected…’

That second thought left him with a smile.

Chapter Text

After the unexpected meeting post-training the week prior, Granolah started noticing more things regarding Tarble.

He had a slightly complicated relationship with his brother, Vegeta; Tarble clearly respected and admired his older brother a lot, constantly at his side and beaming with joy at any crumb of praise the older prince threw his way.

On the other hand, he seemed to have mixed feelings about Vegeta fighting on his behalf; He clearly appreciated jumping to his defense when some other brat decided to pick on Tarble because of his size or demeanor but, he also looked a little upset each time? Like he thought his brother was only defending him because he views the younger as being too weak to fight his own battles.

Vegeta had never explicitly said anything like that to or about his brother but, considering how he talks about strength and class, the Cerealian couldn’t exactly blame the younger prince if that was his thought process…

Despite all this, Vegeta IV might be the only member of the Saiyan royal family that showed Tarble any real respect— A sentiment that left an awful taste in Granolah’s mouth; having to to give the older prince credit.

—

Music flowed through the ballroom as various generals and high-class socialites mingled and fawned over the king and queen to an almost sycophantic degree.

Despite not being high-status, Granolah had been invited to the function by Tarble; under the guise of ‘having more people to celebrate the Saiyan’s most recent planetary conquest.’

Granolah leaned against a wall, gaze carefully searching the crowd for the familiar flowing, green locks of his mother.

’She’s not here…’

Heterochromatic eyes turned to the back if the room; the throne.

In between discussion with staff & soldiers, and fawning from socialites that even the king and queen found nauseating and pathetic, they’d talk to their children about various matters pertinent to their sons lives.

And by ‘spoke to their sons,’ it was almost exclusively Prince Vegeta.

King Vegeta seemed to ignore his younger son, only speaking to him to clarify something his brother had said. Queen Mame Eda, conversely, clearly adored Prince Tarble. However, she mostly just cooed to the boy— as if he were a pet or an infant, instead of an adolescent old enough to train as a soldier.

A smile—that didn’t reach his eyes— crossed his face every time someone looked his way, and quickly faded when eyes, inevitably, turned toward his father or brother.

It came too naturally, Granolah thought.

—

“What are you doing?”

It was a warm spring day. The sun shone bright, lightening the planet’s red sky beautifully.

After sparring practice that morning, Tarble hadn’t stayed back to continue trading alone; instead leaving with the rest of the trainees. This fact was noticed by only two people; Prince Vegeta and Granolah.

Vegeta didn’t question this; assuming that his brother was heading off to meet with a tutor or one of the private trainers the royal family employed.

Granolah, however, was much more curious. There were rare moments when the younger prince would skip his extra training sessions, and he seemed rather eager to leave on time today…

As he stepped out into the garden, the Cerealian was hit with a breathtaking sight.

A sea of flowers covered the garden behind the castle, a vibrant rainbow of flora bloomed under the brutal atmosphere of the planet.

While he walked around the garden, he casually looked around to see if there were any flowers his mother might like. After stumbled upon a patch of pink carnations she’d love, he kept searching for his friend.

Soon, he found Prince Tarble.

Sat on a stone bench next to a patch of light purple lilacs and a gardenia shrub, the younger prince was scribbling away in a notebook

The prince looked up at the sudden question, his look of surprised morphed into joy when he saw who it was.

“Granolah!” Tarble greeted enthusiastically, placing his notebook to the side.

“Your highness,” Granolah replied to it an exaggerated bow and tone, causing Tarble to giggle. After a guard had yelled at granolah for speaking to the younger boy ‘too casually’ the Cerealian had started every conversation between them with an aggressive bow. It was silly, but Tarble’s grin and laughter made it worth it.

The prince’s laughter died down and he lifted his head up, face lightly flushed and eye twinkling with mirth. Graonlah chose to ignore the odd fluttering in his chest that expression caused.

“What brings you here?”

“You left real quick when training was done,” The Cerealian explained, slightly confused when Tarble’s eyes widened in shock, “I wanted to see where you went, assumed it was something important.”

Tarble shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed, “Oh, no… just,” He gestured to the vast expanse of flowers around them, “This.”

“Oh.” Granolah said, before taking a seat next to the prince, which startled him, “What about it?”

“H-huh?”

“Why’d you leave so quickly if it was ‘just the flowers?’” The Cerealian clarified. The prince reached for his sketch book, opened it, and turned the pages toward Granolah.

On the page he’d just been writing on was; a beautiful, unfinished sketch of the field before them. On the other page he could see, were several doodles that looked like team formations, possibly for battle?

“I-it’s the first bloom of the season, which is usually the largest… s-so I wanted to come out here and sketch it before…” Tarble nervously explained from behind the book, trailing of at the end. Granolah realized he hadn’t said anything for a full 30 seconds.

He recovered quickly, “You’re a really good artist!”

The book was pulled away quickly, and he was met with wide eyes and small, shy smile, “Really! T-thank you…”

Silence fell over the two as Tarble continued the drawing he’d been sketching. The soft scratching of his pencil stopped after a minute as he turned to his companion.

“Do you need something else?” He asked, clearly wondering why Granolah was still there.

The Cerealian shrugged, “I was just gonna sit here with you.”

“Oh.” Was all the prince said before he resumed his drawing. A small smile now painted his lips.

Granolah smiled too as he continued watching his new friend.

Chapter Text

After several grueling years of training, another wave of young trainees were old enough to join the Saiyan royal army; where they could actually move up the ranks and get sent to strong command planets.

Tarble stood at the top of the throne stage, next to his parents and across from his brother.

Despite being only fourteen, he attempted to stand as tall as he could, hoping he could fain an air of regality and respect.

At the graduation ceremony, each freshly eighteen year-old soldier was allowed to ask one request to the princes. Most of the requests were; asking to be assigned to a certain crew, for the soldier or a relative of theirs to be promoted to a certain military rank, etc.

A general focus on rank, strength, power.

The throne room was bustling with the chatter of around twenty graduates. Prince Vegeta would also be allowed a request, obviously, but he had asked for his to be done at the end of the ceremony, without the other trainees present.

This specific demand had intrigued Tarble, but the older prince wouldn’t give him even the slightest hint at what his request would be. So, he’d just have to be patient.

Dark eyes swept over the crowd, attempting to look replicate his brother’s piercing gaze, until his eyes were caught by two form in the crowd; Granolah & Raditz.

The two were talking and laughing, with Raditz having thrown his arm over the Cerealian’s shoulders after he’d told a particularly funny joke. A twisting clenched in Tarble’s stomach when he noticed, so he turned his head to face his family.

His thoughts began spiraling; there was nothing going on between the two, as far as the prince knew. Even if there was, why should that bother Tarble? Raditz, even if the younger prince didn’t interact with him much, seemed like a decent man!

And, his mind mocked, even if Granolah was single, why would that mean he’d have a chance?

’Your people, your FATHER, captured him. Forcefully separated him from his mother, and forced him in to serving your people.

Why would he want the royal runt?’

Tarble quickly shock his head to derail this train of thought he’s fallen down. Unbeknownst to him, that small action had drawn the attention of two other; receiving a questioning brow from Prince Vegeta, and a worried glance from Granolah.

The king’s deep voice boomed from the center of the throne, signaling the beginning of the graduation ceremony. After a long-winded, but somewhat sincere sounding speech, the soldiers started approaching the throne & the princes.

Most of the soldiers made their requests to Vegeta, which allowed Tarble to zone out. Stomping, heavy footsteps signified Raditz’s arrival.

The younger prince shot the man an apologetic look, despite the jealousy only existing in him brain. The other didn’t seem to notice, and just gave him a shallow bow before turning to the older prince.

“My prince,” He started off, the formal tone and title sounding almost unnatural on his lips, “I want to be on your… special mission.”

A tense silence fell over the two, Tarble’s eyes darted between his brother and the lower class soldier; a stern brow met a stoic expression.

Huffing, Vegeta replied, “Alright, you’d better not disappoint me!” Raditz’s joy quickly morphed into nervousness, finally landing at reserved excited look.

Granolah finally walked up, a calla lily tucked into the breastplate of his armor. He first turned to Queen Mame Eda and presented a chrysanthemum to her. Taken aback slightly, but clearly very appreciative and impressed, she took the flower.

“Why, thank you!” The queen replied in her elegant tone, pinching the stem of the gold and orange flower between her fingers.

After giving her a deep bow, the Cerealian turned to Tarble.

“My prince,” He began, hearing the older boy say that title sincerely was jarring for the young prince, “I humbly request that my mother be freed from her duties in the kitchen.”

Murmuring could be heard over the crowd, confused and snide comments occasionally slipped through the cacophony.

A smile cross Tarble’s face, surprised to be acknowledged, “Of course, Granolah! I head down to the kitchens to relieve her shortly after the ceremony.”

Heterochromatic eyes widen in surprise, before his face broke into a grin, “Really? Oh, thank you, Prince Tarble!” The happiness in his voice caused heat to wash over the prince’s cheeks. Thankfully, it was light enough to go unnoticed.

“It’s no problem.”

With a deep bow, Granolah walked off, a visible lift to his spirit in his walk. After another speak, this time given by Queen Mame Eda, the rest of new graduates left the throne room, leaving only the royal family.

Prince Vegeta turned to his parents and brother, gaze held firm with his father.

“Father,” His tone was even, almost aggressive, “I wish to lead a mission to earth.” The request seemed to confuse the king for a moment.

After a second, the king replied, “Of course, your majesty, I would’ve approved it-“

“And,” The prince said as her turn toward his brother, interrupting their father, “I want Tarble to assist me in devising fighting strategies and instructing the men who’ll be following me.”

Tarble was speechless for a minute, shocked that his brother would request his help regarding such a high profile mission. After schooling his posture, he replied, “Of course, brother, I would be honored.”

With that, the older prince left the throne room with the king trailing after him. The queen left the room next, as she need to attend a meeting with some of the upper class lieutenants, leaving Tarble by himself.

“Well,” He announced to the empty room, “Guess it’s time for me to head to kitchens…”

—

“Wait- a-are you serious?”

Standing in the royal kitchens, still in his formal attire, Tarble informed Muezli that she was free now.

“I am, Mrs. Muezli,” The boy said with a small smile, “Your son requested that you be relieved of your kitchen duties, and I was the one he asked.”

Tears attempted to overflow her eyes, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the prince’s shoulders, thanking him profusely.

Startled, Tarble recuperated and returned the embrace, patting the crying woman’s back comforting her.

After a few moments, the woman pulls away and steadied herself, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst.

“I-I’m sorry, your highness-“ Her apology was cut off by the prince waving his hand, recalling her she didn’t need to apologize.

Before she could make her way out of the kitchens, Tarble stopped her, “I saw Granolah in the gardens, by the way.”

Muezli softly thanked him before disappearing through one of the many castle doors, leaving Tarble with the rest of the staff; a sea of shocked gazes stared back at him, surprised at the kindness displayed by the young prince.

He stared back at them, unsure of what to say, “Well, carry on?”

Chapter Text

A few months had passed since the last batch of trainees had graduated, and the day had finally come for Prince Vegeta’s chosen team to be sent off of his secret mission.

Planning for this voyage had been… difficult, to say the least; Vegeta wouldn’t tell Tarble a lot about the mission, all Tarble knew was that it was reconnaissance, the planet they were heading to, and some of the Saiyan elites that were following the older prince.

According to his brother; the native population is relatively weak strength-wise, so it would be fairly easy to find another Saiyan.

Because of this barrier, the tactics that he and his brother would teach the elites were mostly focused on sensing power levels without a scouter and emphasizing staying close to the other members of the unit; harder to get ambushed and easier to defend if you always have backup around.

But in terms of battle planning, Vegeta handled most of that, but would occasionally ask Tarble to give his input on what specifically to teach his men. Along with sparring with him to demonstrate new techniques or to improve skills.

The plotting for this expedition was obviously very thought out by the older prince, which made his secrecy even more confusing for the younger boy.

’What is brother hiding?’ Tarble figured he’d get a clear answer after he and his crew returned from their journey.

Or he hoped, at least.

The moment of launch was nigh, minutes ticked by like seconds as the final few precautions were put into place and final items were gathered.

“Is everything ready? Can we finally leave?” Vegeta’s voice crackled impatiently over the scouter, pulling Tarble out of his musings. He blinked a few times; eyes strained from having to stare at the updated blueprints for so long.

“As soon as Raditz returns from his pre-mission physical, you and your crew can leave,” He heard his brother grumble under his breath, “It will only be another few minutes, brother.”

That seemed to placate the older prince. After the promised few minutes, the long-haired man returned to the launch site. After a final check-in, the three men were lifted off; their ships starting slow, but quickly shooting up into the atmosphere once they were sufficiently above ground.

Watching from a window, Tarble was saddened that he couldn’t see his brother off from the ground. He understood why he couldn’t go with Vegeta; if there were royal duties that weren’t important enough for their parents to help, he’d have to take care of it. He was asked to be assist his brother, and he felt he did this well.

After the ships disappeared from view, the young boy pulled his sled from the window. Letting out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagged; these last few months of preparations took more of a toll on his mind and body than he thought.

He stretched out his spine and arms, tight from hunching over various equipment while helping engineers fix the pods. Following this, he made his way out of the war room and made his way over to one of the royal family’s private training rooms; planning to work for it some nervous energy he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

’Brother will be fine, I shouldn’t worry!’

With that thought, Tarble forced his mind to move to other ideas. Maybe something happier!

In response, his thoughts drifted to Granolah. He hadn’t seen the older boy that often these last few months, too busy helping with the mission, but he still made the effort to catch up with him at least once a week; ask about how his mother’s doing, how he’s doing, training, etc.

Recently though, he felt a strange… nervousness when he was around the Cerealian. Tarble wasn’t scared of him but when the older boy would laugh, the sound would make him smile almost instantly, a rush of pride seemed to fill him if he was the one to make Granolah laugh too.

He couldn’t listen to the other boy talk for hours about his people and culture, his low, soothing voice perfect for story telling.

Granolah was just so kind, and charming, and handsome-

The younger prince shook his head, banishing these thoughts.

’Why do my thoughts always seem to turn this way when I think about him?’

He hurried quicker to the training room, desperately needing to distract himself and silence his mind, at least for a little while.

———

Body sore and breath ragged, Tarble fell back against the wall of the training room, sliding down until he sat on the floor.

’I think I pushed myself more than I had too’ He chuckled at the thought.

After taking several minutes to relax and get his breathing back to normal, he stretched to soothe his burning muscles. Afterwards, he headed out of the room.

He first returned to the war room, asking the older soldiers if there have been any updates in the two hours since the launch.

“Prince Vegeta and his team are safe. They haven’t found the Saiyan they’re looking for, or the other items they wanted.” The general explained, eyes scanning over a screen that documented everything about the mission, a lot of it was redacted for some unknown reason.

That peaked his interest, “Other items?” Vegeta hadn’t told him about a search for treasure; only about the reconnaissance for an abandoned Saiyan.

Unfortunately, the older man didn’t have a much clearer idea, “Their looking for something magical that’s supposedly on earth.”

Tarble nods, “Alright. Thank you, General Peppers.” With that, he left the war room.

He enters his bedroom, deciding to take a quick nap after training. After taking off his shoes and armor, he turned to his right.

On his bedside table, is a gladiolus and an acacia flower.

Tarble reached out and gently grabbed both flowers by their stems, the colorful petals a stark, beautiful contrast to the grays and whites of his spartan bed chambers.

A flush over took his cheeks as he realized what this could mean.

’Or who it might be from’ The thought flickered in his mind before he closed his eyes to sleep, no matter how implausible he knew it was.

Chapter Text

The Prince’s mission was a success!… Mostly.

He and his care were able to rescue the lost Saiyan; a young boy named Kakarot who was sent off planet when he was young, when there was a panic over the Cold Empire visiting Planet Vegeta.

Said boy is also the younger brother of Raditz.

There was another person who was brought back though; a girl named Bulma.

According to Vegeta, he was looking for the dragon balls and ran into Bulma & Kakarot (for some reason she kept calling him Goku), the two got into an argument and the prince broke the radar she was using to locate the dragon balls.

Since the earth-raised Saiyan was already set on being his four star ball, the royal and the heiress struck a deal; he would bring her back to his planet and let her rebuilt he dragon radar with more advanced technology. In return, once she was returned to earth, Bulma would help him find the dragon balls.

Kakarot was set to start being trained as a soldier like his brother before him.

———

The stench of death lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of burnt rubble. Pained screams of those breathing their last and desperate, panicked shouts of survivors rang throughout the destruction.

Granolah curled into his mother’s side, face pressed against her collar bone. She had cooed comforts into his hair, attempting to soothe his fears despite the shaking of her voice.

Footsteps drew closer, his mother pulled his small form closer.

A desperate plea fell from her lips, “P-please don’t-“

Heterochromatic eyes shot open as Granolah lurched forward, ragged breaths shook his chest as the painful memory slowly drifted out of focus.

’Haven’t had that dream in nearly eight years…’

As his breathing normalized, the Cerealian knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon now. Throwing on a thin tunic, he walked over not the garden, hoping the glow of the moon and the cool air of the night would do something to calm his nerves.

As he walked into the darkness, he realized he wasn’t the only one in the castle awake at this time of night.

The glow from the waning gibbous moon illuminated the cobblestone path, Prince Tarble stood there, gazing up at the sky.

Granolah walked quietly toward the younger man, “Something bothering you, your highness?” He greeted.

Jumping, the prince whirled toward his new companion ready to defend himself. Noticing it was Granolah and not an assailant, his posture instantly loosened.

“Oh, Granolah,” Tarble breathed with a slight laugh, “It’s you.”

“You’re up late.”

“So are you.”

The Cerealian huffed out a laugh, the prince’s light chuckle washed over his nerves like a balm.

“So, what wake you up?” The Saiyan asked, turning to his friend.

Granolah turned his head to hide his expression, “Bad dream.”

The answered seemed oddly juvenile from the older man, but his tone signaled that there was a deeper meaning to those two words, and he didn’t want to reveal the truth.

Tarble didn’t question him further, choosing instead to step close to him and rub his arm in a calming gesture. His arm felt hot where the shorter man touched.

“You haven’t said what’s keeping you up.” Granolah pointed out as he turned his head to face the other.

The warm touch of his hand was gone, now replaced by chill wind, as Tarble turned his head away.

“Well,” The prince began, “You know that there’s a ball being held soon, to try and find a wife for me?”

Granolah nodded, “Yes? It’s scheduled to happen in about a month and a half, from what I’ve heard.”

As the prince had just turned twenty, the king and queen were hell bent on finding him a bride; Prince Vegeta had married the earth heiress Bulma briefs, meaning Tarble was their only child that was still unwed.

“A ball means i’lll have to dance with the princesses I’m meeting.”

“…Yes?” Granolah was confused now, the prince knew how a ball operated, right?

A quiet confession followed an ashamed silence, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Clarity suddenly hit Granolah; of course the prince wouldn’t know how to dance! He was raised in a society that prioritized strength and aggression, a fact which his education mirrored. Any aspect of life that couldn’t help him further strength of diplomatic pursuits was taught to him at only the most basic level.

And dancing was, apparently, skipped over entirely.

Silence fell between them as humiliation seemed to consume Tarble, while Granolah’s mind worked overtime.

A thought, “What if I taught you? To dance?”

“Really? You know how to dance?”

“Sort of.” The Cerealian shrugged. Truthfully, he hadn’t danced since he was very young; when he would dance with his mother while she made dinner.

The noncommittal answer didn’t seem to bother the prince though, “Oh, thank you so much! When can you start teaching me?”

“We could start now, if you want?”

The two stood face to face; Tarble’s right hand at Grabolah’s waist and his left holding the Cerelain’s right, as he instructed. Granolah’s left hand was on the prince’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Granolah started, eyes locked with Tarble’s, attempting to ignore how the moonlight made them shine so beautifully, “Step your right foot back.”

Tarble did, and Granolah followed with his left.

“Good, now move your right foot back.”

The prince did, the Cerealian followed.

“Now, step to the side.” Granolah instructed softly.

Despite his nervousness, the prince was a quick learner. The two glided through a box step while the older man gently coaxed his friend along.

When the time to teach Tarble about dipping his partner, the prince had grown a little bolder.

Granolah place both his hands on the other’s shoulders, while Tarble stabilized him by holding his middle. Raising onto the balls of his feet and bending his knees, he bent at the waist and swung his top-half down slowly.

At the upswing of his dip, Tarble decided to shift his partner so that his front was facing perpendicular to his, unbalancing him.

Scrambling to plant his feet again, the Cerealian’s grip on the other tightened. He was about to make a joking comment on the prince’s newfound daringness, until the reality of their position struck him.

Bathed in moonlight, gazes locked and heavy breaths clashing, the heat of Tarble’s hands seeping into his skin when the younger’s hands met fabric.

“S-sorry, I-“ Tarble stuttered.

“No, it’s fine!” Granolah’s voice was louder than he wanted, “I think we can… leave it there for tonight.”

Shuffling around until they were both standing normally, they stared at each other. The air between them had… changed.

The prince spoke up first, “Are you still willing to help me?”

“Of course,” The older man replied gently, “Want to meet in the royal training room tomorrow? Sometime in the afternoon?”

Tarble nodded enthusiastically, before say a quick goodnight and wandering back into the castle. Granolah watched until he disappeared from on view.

The Cerealian stayed back for another few moments, a pit forming in his stomach as he came to recognize that what he felt for the younger prince might not just be respect.

There’s something else to keep him up tonight.

Chapter Text

Granolah leaned against the wall opposite the door, the mindless tapping of his fingers against his bicep the only sound in the room.

They’d agreed to meet in the royal training room for their dance lesson that morning, a nervousness unbefitting of either of them laced the conversation. Earlier that day however, Tarble had stopped Granolah and told him to head to the room before him.

Despite the mysteriousness of the instruction, the Cerealian followed, which lead him to where he is now; after warming up for about a half hour, he was stood there, waiting for the prince.

A series of knocks pulled his focus to the door, signaling Tarble’s arrival.

“Granolah?” Came his gentle voice, muffled slightly.

With a soft huff of laughter, Granolah walked over to the door and opened it. Tarble walked in and turned to him, greeting his friend with a deep bow, “Afternoon, my dear.”

The knowledge that the ‘dear’ nickname was simply to get him in the mindset of a ball/dancing with a princess did nothing to health the brief stutter of his heart as the word passed the prince’s lips.

“Good afternoon, your highness.” Granolah replied with a quirk of his mouth.

Tarble stood up and pulled his arm from behind his back, presenting the Cerealian with an orange rose, “For you, warrior.”

“Oh, how sweet of you!” The faux coyness Granolah spoke the words with made the prince snort, knocking him out of the scene for a second. The Cerealian took the flower and held it against his chest for a few moments, before setting it down on a small table next to him.

Tarble grabbed one of Granolah’s hands, and placed the other on his waist as the Cerelain’s unoccupied hand landed on his shoulder. They spun around, Granolah’s back now facing a wall f training dummies.

They started off by going through the box step again, adding in some turns when they got too close to the few pieces of equipment in the sparsely furnished area.

After practicing dipping your partner a few times, Granolah chose not to read into the slight disappointment he felt when Tarble didn’t try to drop him further this time, the two stood still in the center of the chamber.

“Alright,” he began, “Now, to teach you a natural spin turn.” He pulled away from the prince, hands still connected, and stepped his right foot back until he was parallel with the row of training dolls. His right arm was held high behind himself.

“I’m going to spin toward you. When I get to you, stand your ground and push your weight against mine to stabilize me.”

After he was met with a nod, Granolah wrapped his raised arm around himself and spun toward his partner. As their bodies met, the Cerealian leaned his weight against the other. A slight slump was soon fixed by rigid posture, accompanied by a nearly noticeable grunt.

“And that’s how you do a natural spin turn.”

He craned his head to lock eyes with Tarble, whose chin rested aginat his shoulder. A stillness swept over them as they held each other’s gaze.

“Granolah…” Tarble breathed his named, voice airy and almost awestruck.

“Tarble…” Regardless of how close they were, saying the prince’s given name suddenly felt too intimate in their current position.

The prince leaned up just a hint.

The Cerealian leaned down, movements just as slight.

Their breath mingled, closer than they even were in the garden the night before.

A wicked grin crossed Granolah’s face as he quickly slammed his elbow into Tarble’s ribs.

A harsh grunt was punched out of him as he stumbled back after the hit, shock evident on his face.

While falling forward, Granolah stepped his right foot forward, bowing a lunge. He lifted his head and smirked at his companion, launching himself forward as he raised his fist to throw a punch.

Tarble saw that and quickly blocked the punch, digging his heels into the floor.

“Gotta stay on your toes, your highness,” The Cerealian said with a chuckle, “Your parents have made a lot of enemies.”

The prince laughed, “Oh, I know, trust me.” He released the other’s hand and quickly crouched down. A look of genuine surprise crossed Granolah’s face.

“What are you-“ He was cut off as he fell forward, now unexpectedly unbalanced. He hit the ground with a loud thud, groaning in pain he turned to the side.

Tarble was now standing with a smug smile, wrapping his tail around his waist.

’Oh, you sneaky little-‘

Grinning, the Cerealian jumps into a crouch and launches himself forward once again, arms I front.

The prince jumps up, attempting to flee to avoid his partner’s grapple. Anticipating this, Granolah grabbed at the other’s ankle and threw Tarble at the bare wall next to them.

While flying through the air, the prince managed to right himself and straighten his body. He landed with his feet against the wall. Launching himself at the other, Tarble tucked his chin to his chest and tucked his face into his elbows, forearms perpendicular against his head.

Standing up, Granolah didn’t notice the other until he felt the wind being knocked out of him as the prince smashed his full body weight into his chest. A pained groan ripped its way from his throat.

On instinct, the Cerealian wrapped his arms around the prince’s back and pulled their torsos flush together. As they were falling, he turned around to slam Tarble into the ground.

Both crashed to the ground, a burst of agony radiated through Granolah’s head as his nose collided with the ground. He could distantly hear a shout against his chest as the back of his head hit the floor, crushed under the pressure of Granolah’s body.

Scrambling to his hands and knees, a flurry of apologizes left his mouth. His face throb with a dull ache as blood dribbled down his face, confirming that his nose was broken.

Glancing at the prince, he wasn’t exactly unscathed either; sitting up, blood seeped through the white of his gloves, meaning he’d scrapped up his knuckles pretty severely. His left eye was staring to swell, its purple color a stark contrast on his skin.

For several moments, all they did was stare at stare at one another, before bursting into raucous, if pained laughter.

“Well, guess I don’t need to worry about you defending yourself, huh?” The Cerealian chortled, head feeling fuzzy as the pain seemed to strengthen in a second wave.

Wobbling to a stand, Table reached out his hand to help Granolah up, “You think I haven’t been warned about enemies? You’ve met my father, right?” He said with a chuckle.

“Heh, touché.”

A quiet fell over them, Granolah’s mind raced now that they were standing still.

Should he mention the change in energy between them when they met in the twist?

Them leaning into a kiss?

The flower?

He’s decided; no, the moment where that would be relevant had long passed, and it might be a good time to bring it up now.

So instead, he just said, “We should probably go to the infirmary.”

Chapter Text

A chorus of loud, heavy raps against the door of his bedroom woke him from his slumber. Groaning, Granolah sat up and tossed the covers off himself.

The noise echoed thanks to the utilitarian design of his bedroom. Groaning from a mixture of tiredness and annoyance, he made his way over to the door.

Wrenching it open, he’s met by a young woman; a Saiyan soldier named Choi. She was one of the few people who didn’t look down on him when he was first brought to this planet during training.

“What?” Granolah barked out, shutting his eyes tightly to try and force himself more awake.

The harsh tone was received a laugh, “Morning, Granolah. Your presence is requested in the throne room.”

Squinting at her, now curious, Granolah asked, “Why?”

She shrugged, “King Vegeta didn’t say, just told me to get you.” Choi turned to walk away, saying that she’d tell the royal family he needed a few minutes to look presentable; to give him some time to wake up.

Closing the door, Granolah leaned his head against the wood, slapping his face to wake up and prepare for whatever was about to happen.

———

Pushing the large, ornate entryway open, Granolah entered the throne room. He walked straight backed with his hands hidden behind himself.

The whole royal was in attendance, including the Princess-consort Bulma. Accompanying them were Kakarot, Prince Vegeta’s guard, and Choi.

Granolah first walked over to Bulma and Vegeta. He dropped into a low bow in greeting, and gifted a Star of Bethlehem flower to Bulma.

A look of surprise crossed her face, “O-oh, thank you, Granolah.”

’Guess she hasn’t told Vegeta yet…’ The Cerealian chose not to saying anything more, giving her a smile before turning away.

He turned to Kakarot and Choi, nodding at them respectfully. He’s met with a pair of grins along with an enthusiastic wave from the younger man.

He stood in front of the King and Queen, mouth set in a hard line as his eyes met the king’s.

“My liege.” Granolah greeted him with a bow of his head.

King Vegeta’s voice is gruff, “Granolah, do you know why you were summoned here?”

“No, my liege?” He wished he could say more, but he hadn’t even found out this meeting until an hour ago.

At the shuffling of footsteps, the Cerealian’s head turns to Queen Mame Eda. Blue and red eyes widen as he catches sight of the sword at her hip as she unsheathes it.

“You know that me and my husband have made many enemies over our rule, correct?” The queen questioned as she approached him. She stood in front of him, the top of her head barely reached Granolah’s chin.

He nodded, “Yes, my queen. Your conquests have lead to multiple revolutionary groups and many vengeful former monarchs.” The knowledge of how much blood was on this woman’s hands always clashed with her image of as a kind, graceful figure.

The laugh the followed his statement was almost frightening, “Oh good, I won’t have to explain too much.” The queen schooled her expression into something less humorous.

“Our enemies want revenge, and they want to hurt us in anyway they can,” The queen began, tone dead serious, “One of those ways is harming our sons.”

Granolah nodded along, a knot of tension formed in his stomach as the queen gestured for him to kneel. The knot grew bigger as the heavy weight of the blade rested against his left shoulder.

“Granolah the Cerealian,” Her voice boomed in his skull, the sword swung like a pendulum as the cold metal landed upon his right shoulder, “I hereby dub thee, royal guard to Prince Tarble.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Granolah can see Tarble’s head snap over to his mother. His eyes are wide, and he swallows nervously as their gaze catches each other.

They both knew about the unspoken feelings that lay between them, drawing them together like magnets.

The best way to keep their dynamic platonic was distance; you can’t keep a fire going if you don’t have oxygen. It hasn’t been working recently, considering their private dance lessons.

But this? Forced proximity, under the guise of ‘protection’ from those who’ve been wronged by the royals? Ordained by the queen to spend nearly every waking hour of his life to shield her younger son?

His mind warred between itself; the logical half, pointing out how this position is meant to be professional. He’s the prince’s protector, which is just a euphemism for ‘meat shield’ to the Saiyan royals.

’You’re Tarble’s guard, not his suitor you delusional fool’

That didn’t stop the baser, more longing part of his psyche from painting some tawdry fantasy; the object of his affections giving into his desires, disregarding the fall out that would follow.

’He’s a prince, not a robot! We know how he feels, as well~’

Granolah realized he hadn’t said anything for far too long, Tarble’s eyes have already left his, looking off into the distance. A similar train of thought possibly running through his head.

“Thank you, my queen,” He said as he stood up, forcing his voice to remain neutral, not wanting to betray any feelings, “I will carry out this honor as best as I can.”

Granolah just hoped he could remain detached.

———

The soft clinking of silverware and ceramic echoed in the small hut Muezli lived in. After she was freed of her duties in the royal kitchens, the queen provided her a small cottage to live in, as she was living in the servants quarters of the castle before.

“So,” Granolah started, swallowing the bite that was in his mouth, “I was knighted today. As the guard for Prince Tarble.”

A bright smile plasters itself on his mother’s face, “Really? Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She got up and walked around the small table. Wrapping her arms around her son, she squeezed him in a tight hug. Granolah laughed, returning her embrace with equal enthusiasm.

“This is amazing! You must be so excited.”

A strained swallow prefaced his next sentence, “It’s lovely.”

Chapter Text

A flurry of shouts and hurried footsteps rang through out the halls as the castle staff made the finale preparations for tonight.

The ball has arrived.

Tarble stood in his bed chambers as a maid fussed over his attire for the party, pinning a light pink rose to the lapel of his bodysuit. She drapes a deep blue cape over his shoulders and slips a gold crown on his head.

Just as she pulled away, a knock sounds from the other side of the door, “Is the prince ready yet?” It was Granolah.

“Yes, give me a moment!” He called back. Thanking his maid, he walked over to the door and opened it.

Instead of his usual armor; Granolah wore a forest green velvet waistcoat with a purple lilac pinned to the lapel. Underneath he wore a white silk poet shirt and finely-crafted black pants.

After realizing he’d been staring for far too long, Tarble said, “Well, you clean up nicely.” The comment was meant as playful, but the prince worried his tone sounded too flirtatious.

This didn’t seem to phase Granolah however, who laughed good naturedly, “I’d hope so, these are the only formal clothes I own.” He gazed down at the prince, smile turning softer as he spoke, “Shall we make your grand entrance now?”

With a nod of the head, the two men maneuvered their way through the labyrinthine halls of the castle. When they finally stopped at the entrance to the ballroom, Granolah took a step back, so that he was slightly behind Tarble. The prince tried to ignore the slight disappointment that came with the Cerealian’s warmth leaving him.

As the doors were opened for them, the party stopped. Everyone in attendance turned to the duo. Hushed murmurs rolled through out the crowd.

The queen practically raced over to her younger son, “Oh wonderful, you’re finally here!” She leaned in close to her son’s ear, “These lovely young lady’s are here to woo you. Remember your teachings.” She pulled away, her smiling seeming a touch more saccharine than a moment ago.

A bitterness rose in Tarble’s throat. ’They’re here for the crown, not me.’

Guilt washed over him quickly. He knew that was cruel to even think. Most of these ladies were probably being put up to this by their parents like he was; dressed up and paraded around like dolls in order to hopeful secure an alliance and heirs.

“I’ll keep that in mind, mother.” He finally said after several seconds.

———

The ball was spectacular, if not significantly draining physically and mentally.

Women in glittering dresses vied for his attention and affection, but many carried a nervousness that made him feel a strong sense of pity and understanding.

He’d start every dance by handing the lady a dahlia, before taking her hand and leading her to the center of the crowd.

The angle of their waist was a bit awkward at times, lower than what he was use to. Their height being closer to his own might’ve factored into the issue as well. Everyone these thoughts would cross his mind, he’d quickly dip his partners to disguise the shaking of his head.

Tarble had made several connections through out the night, but no romantic sparks. Nothing like his parents hoped for.

That’s how the story always went, didn’t it?

He stared up at the moon in the sky as the event died down and guests began to leave, light from the waxing crescent illuminated their paths down the steps of his family’s opulent abode.

“There you are, Tarble!” The prince lifted himself from the railing he was leaning over as Granolah’s voice rang out to him.

He turned to the other man and grinned, “Hello!”

“I watched you during the party, but then left about an hour ago,” the Cerealian recalled as he reached the prince, leaning his hip against the railing, “Got a bit tired?”

Tarble shook his head, “Sort of. Mostly it just got a little overwhelming, you know?”

A smirk tugged at the other man’s lips as he nodded, “So, you have enough energy for one more dance tonight?”

“For you? Of course.”

Granolah straightened his posture and grabbed Tarble’s arm, pulling him forward into their familiar embrace.

They danced around the small balcony; dipping and spinning each other recklessly as they laughed.

“You know, I just realized,” Granolah began as he dipped the prince back, “I never said anything about how you look tonight.”

“You don’t have too,” Tarble reassured him with a giggle as he was brought back to standing, pressed close to the Cerealian’s form, “More than enough people have already called me handsome tonight.”

“‘Handsome’ works, but,” as Tarble spun in a small circle he dipped the man again, the moon’s glow cast shadows of their bodies against the smooth stone of the palace, “I was going to say,” He leaned closer, breathes mingling, “Radiant.”

Time seems to slow as they were stuck there. Tarble’s shoulders were tensed in case this was another bout of training.

“Granolah.” He breathed out as he leaned forward, trepidatious.

The Cerealian’s voice sounded much more sure as he softly spoke, “Tarble.”

Their mouths met in a soft kiss, Granolah cradling the prince’s head in one as the heat from the prince’s hand’s warmed his cheeks.

Lips moved slowly together as they explored this new territory of their relationship.

In a bold move, Tarble gently suckled on the Cerealian’s bottom lip. The other man gasped, which allowed the prince to slip his tongue in. The muscles glided along each other.

Still connected, Granolah dragged them to standing.

Eventually, unfortunately, the need to breathe became too great for them to ignore and they were forced to part.

They stood there, hearts pounding in sync, more in tune than any previous dance that night.

The prince gazed into the Cerealian’s eyes, their blue and red hues shinier and more dazzling than any jewel set into his crown could ever hope to be.

In an instant, the reality of situation hit Tarble.

What would his parents do if they found out he had feelings for his knight? This entire event was hosted specifically to find Tarble a wife! How could they be so careless? Brazenly sharing a kiss out in the open, where castle staff or, god forbid, his family could catch them!

What would they do to him?

What would they do to Granolah?

Wrenching himself away, a panicked ‘sorry’ left his mouth as he turned tail and booked it down the path to the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him.

His panicked thoughts dragged him forward while Granolah questioning cries tried to pull him back.

Chapter Text

Table wished that, just for once, he hadn’t listened to his brain.

After fleeing from the ballroom, and Granolah’s embrace, he locked himself in his bedchambers for the remainder of the night. Forcing himself to ignore the hurt voice coming from the other side of the door, he managed to fall into a restless slumber.

—

The next morning was almost worse.

He ate breakfast in his room alone; trying to prolong his self-imposed solitude for as long as possible. Eventually, he had to leave the safety of his room and face his family.

After dressing in his standard jumpsuit and armor, he exited his room.

The air seemed to drop several degrees as he found himself next to Granolah.

“Good morning, your highness.” His tone was polite but impersonal, distant in a way that made Tarble feel even guiltier.

“Morning, Granolah,” The prince replied, gathering as much cheer as he could to put into his voice, in the hope of coaxing more out of his companion, “How… How did you sleep last night?”

“I slept well.”

Clipped, short sentences. He wasn’t even looking at him!

It felt like daggers to his chest.

Swallowing around the swelling lump in his throat, Tarble nodded,” That’s good.” He chose not to mention how his attempt at sleep went.

The disinterested hum he received in reply almost hurt worse than silence would’ve.

“Your presence is requested in the dining hall,” The Cerealian spoke up suddenly, startling Tarble a bit, “Your mother, requested you.”

Another nod, he could barely muster up the energy for that one. He knew what this would be about; the lack of a potential bride following last night’s ball.

’Maybe I can at least avoid having to listen to Father’s thinly-veiled disappointment… Again’

A huffed out groaned leaves his lips; far harsher and much too honest than what he intended. The prince turned to his companion, seeing that Granolah was now looking at him, brows thrown his hairline at the sound.

Tarble cleared his throat, a spark of joy shot through him at finally having gained Granolah’s attention, “Alright.”

The two made their way down to the dining hall. Once they reached the large door, the prince turned to his guard, “Would you… like to accompany me in?” Guards were after in the room when the family was hosting feasts and lavish dinners for other nobles and kingdoms, in case one of the guests attempted a mass poisoning.

Heterochromatic eyes widened and an unidentifiable emotion tugged at the corner of Granolah’s mouth for the barest second before he schooled his expression into a neutral mask with practiced ease, “While I’m thankful for the offer,” his tone was almost bureaucratic, “I was asked to help train some of the younger soldiers.”

“O-Oh alright,” ’You are not. Going. To cry!’”You’re free to go, then.” Hopefully the stutter wasn’t too obvious.

With a respectful nod, Granolah turned around and retreated down the corridor, making his way down to the training facilities.

He watched until the fleeing visage of his guard fully disappeared from view. The echoes of his footsteps faded the slowest, like the scent of a lost lover’s perfume.

It was a painfully familiar scene for the two of them, except Granolah had the grace to provide the prince with an excuse; Tarble just fled with barely an apology, like a coward.

Promising to himself that he’d find the time to apologize to the Cerealian later, he pushed the ornate doors open and forced himself to face his mother’s interrogation.

—

Queen Mame Eda was never one to beat around the bush.

Practically the minute Tarble sat down at the table, his mother was pelting him with questions about the night of the ball.

On edge and unprepared, the prince had to answer her accusations to a degree she deemed satisfactory, all while avoiding any mistake that would cause her to start suspecting that anything untoward had happened between him and Granolah.

It was almost an hour and a half of inquiries and cross-examination, with Tarble himself having to act as both the helpless defendant and rookie defense attorney.

Still, it was honestly preferable to enduring his father’s barely camouflaged belittlements.

He worried at his lower lip, searching for any idea of what to do about his predicament with Granolah. He knew he’d have to face the Cerealian later.

The prince decided on an apology bouquet, hoping it would at least soften his semi-rejection last night.

’Plus, if any of the guards catch me, I can just claim a young lady has captured my affections’ Tarble reassured himself mentally, before making his way through the halls of the castle down to the gardens.

As he made his way through the fields of flowers, the sun beat down on him, precipitation gradually fusing his clothes to his skin.

“Is the cape really necessary today?” The prince grumbled to himself, unclasping it and choosing to fold it and then drapes the fabric over his shoulders.

As he fiddled around with the garment, he looked around the gardens for any clue of where to start his bouquet. He noticed a group of soldiers training out of the corner of his eye.

Granolah was there as well, leading the younger warriors in a demonstration of a new technique one of the lieutenants had been developing.

It seemed like the heat had affected him even worse than it had the prince, as he had already shed his upper clothes; his toned, lightly hirsute chest on full display.

Looking away quickly, Tarble cleared his throat and continued on his original quest.

’You’re trying to apologize to him!’ His conscience berated him, ’You’re a prince! Have some class…’

These thoughts didn’t stop him from storing the image of Granolah shirtless in the back of his mind.

——

In front of the simple wooden door, the prince set the bouquet on the stone floor and scurried it back to his own quarters.

About half an hour passed before their intended recipient arrived back to his own room, body rejuvenated from a quick stint in one of the healing pods in the infirmary after the days trading got particularly rough.

He gazed down at the collection of flowers; Lillies of the valley, white orchids, orange tulips, with a single red rose at the center. Everything was bound by a cream colored ribbon.

A simple card hidden between the petals caught his eye. Reaching down, he recognized Tarble’s intricate handwriting.

Meet me in my chambers as soon as you can

Chapter Text

His heart pounded as the minutes ticked by, the swinging pendulum of the grandfather clock that sat in the corner of his room felt as though it was counting down to Tarble’s unknown fate.

The flowers felt like a desperate move, a symbolic plea for forgiveness that he wasn’t even sure he deserved. Visions of him fleeing from Granolah’s presence on that balcony the night before had been playing on a loop behind his eyes for the better part of a day by that point.

And his behavior that morning? That pathetic attempt at starting a conversation despite wronging his knight? He couldn’t even be upset about the other man’s clipped responses.

Many silent prayers were sent out to the heavens; begging for Granolah to give him the chance to explain his actions that night.

A series of knocks, firm and rhythmic against his door pulled the prince out of his self-deprivation, “Tarble?”

That deep, smooth voice! “Granolah! Please, come in!” The prince called out as he shuffled of the bed, hoping his tone wasn’t too eager as he raced to open the lock.

The Cerealian entered the room and then the door was locked again. The two men stood in silence, a tension thick enough where Tarble wasn’t sure if there was any blade in the universe that could carve through it.

Tarble opened his mouth to speak, until he was interrupted by an unexpected apology, “I apologize if my actions the night of the ball made you uncomfortable-“

“Wait,” The prince interjected, “Why are you apologizing to me? I should be the one saying sorry!”

Granolah turned to face him, eyebrows pinched in confusion, “What? I assumed my advances-“

“No! The kiss was,” A blushed bloomed on his cheeks, “The kiss was wonderful, that’s not the problem.”

A little pink hue dusted Granolah’s cheeks at his words, expression more shocked than before.

“I,” Tarble inhaled deeply, steeling his nerves and establishing eye contact with his knight, “I ran… because I was scared.”

A look of worry marred Granolah’s expression, urging the prince to continue, “I was worried about someone seeing us. If someone saw, there would be far more risk for you than for me.” He didn’t even want to entertain those horrible thoughts.

The Cerealian seemed to read between the lines, “I’d face the risk of being imprisoned? Or even killed?” His tone clashed with his almost curious expression.

“More or less.” Tarble had to force the words out through the swelling in his throat, a frown twisted his lips.

“And you’d be forced into an arranged marriage with the first available princess or noblewoman?”

All the prince could manage next was a nod, his hypothetical destiny seemed almost silly in comparison.

Granolah hummed in reply, visage returned to unreadably neutral. The silence returned, thankfully less agitated this time. Both men had drawn into their own minds.

The quiet stretched on for another few moments before it was broken, once again, by Granolah, “Do you have any issue with the idea of us in a relationship?” His eyes bore into Tarble’s, deliberate and curious.

“W-what?” The prince stuttered, surprised by the question.

His knight repeated the question, “Do you have any issues with the idea of us in a relationship?”

“Don’t you?” Tarble said, louder than he would’ve wanted.

Once more, the Cerealian’s brows pinched together in confusion, “Not really,” He spoke honestly, “Should I?”

“My people were the one’s to kidnap you and force you to serve as a soldier!”

Granolah nodded, “That’s true but, it’s not as if you made the order. You were barely older than four then.”

“My parents were still the one’s to oversee that mission! They made the orders!”

“Yes, but you’re not your parents.”

The prince was stunned, desperately trying to find any other argument as the Cerealian walked a few steps closer.

Granolah took his hands in his grasp, forcing Tarble to look up at him. His voice was soft, “If I may speak candidly,” A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, “You are the shining beacon of good in your family. I may have my grievances with some of their actions but,” He leaned down closer, hesitantly resting his forehead against the prince’s, “You have only ever helped me. Shown me kindness, compassion… love.”

His tone was so gentle, it almost made Tarble start crying. A tear had unknowingly slid down his cheek at some point, and he felt the rough pad of Granolah’s thumb glide up his skin to wipe it away.

“You’re the only person who’s ever seen cared for me as me, instead of my title,” Tarble confessed, voice breaking, “You’re the only true friend I’ve ever had.” He breathed in to steady his nerves, strengthening his voice, “I knew the ball would fail because, I could never have given any of those women my heart, because it’s yours.”

The Cerealian leaned into steal a sweet kiss from the prince, the gesture broken after a second. He spoke his next words against the Prince’s lips, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll gladly have your heart, if you’ll have mine.”

Words seemed insufficient at the moment, so Tarble leaned into steal once more to press his lips to the knight’s, channeling all of his love into the gesture. He cradled Granolah’s face, lightly tracing along his jaw with a pinky finger.

Granolah returned the kiss with equal passion, hands moving to rest on the prince’s waist.

They stayed like that for several minutes; pulling away only briefly to take in air when their lungs demanded it.

Tarble had grown more bold, tracing the tip of his tongue along the Cerealian’s upper lips, wordlessly asking for entrance.

The knight granted his prince’s wish, opening his mouth to allow their tongues to meet. The muscles glided against each other in a passionate, gentle tango.

All performances have an intermission, with the two men parting once again to regain their breaths.

Tarble attempt to reconnect their lips, but is stopped by Granolah. He wears a teasing yet oddly unsure expression.

“If I may be so bold,” He began, tone flirtatious, “I was thinking that there are… other ways, I could demonstrate my affections.”

His tone made his intentions obvious, and caused heat to spark low in Tarble’s stomach. He’d be lying if he said that more scandalous thoughts regarding his knight had never crossed his mind.

He’d seemed to interpret the prince’s silence as hesitation, as he clarified, “If you aren’t ready yet, I understand. I would never want to-“

“I’m ready.” Tarble declared firmly, “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

A smirked crossed the prince’s lips as he leaned into his knight, mouth right against his ear, “You follow my orders.”

The low chuckled that was Granolah’s reply sent a shiver shooting down Tarble’s spine. In a low voice, the knight spoke, “Of course, your highness.”

Chapter Text

Walking toward the bed with a slight sway to his hips, Tarble turned around a gestured for Granolah to come closer with a ‘come hither’ look in his eyes.

A smirk crossed his knight’s face as he followed.

Sitting on the bed, the prince spread his legs and crooked his fingers to pull Granolah forward. The Cerealian stood between Tarble’s spread legs, smirking down at him.

“Well, my prince,” He purred, looking into the Saiyan’s dark eyes, “How do you want me?”

Tarble hummed, nervousness began to creep along his form. He’d never been intimate with anyone before now; both because of his attraction to Granolah, but also because of his general insecurities.

In a society where raw strength was prized above all else, mercy was not exactly highly valued.

Tarble was physically strong, but due to his size and less violent nature, his strategy when fighting focused more on quick strikes and using his opponents size against them. More subtle movements. He never sought out fights like the rest of his family did, never reveled in war and the stench of blood like the rest.

Due to his status as prince, he could never truly trust that any of the people who took interest in him where genuine; that they actually wanted him instead of the prestige that came with his title or his bloodline.

Apparently, he’d been quiet for too long. A bent finger lifted his chin gently to lock eyes with Granolah, whose gaze had turned softer, less lascivious.

“Are you alright?” He questioned, his words like a gentle breeze.

“Yes, I-I fine. It’s just,” Tarble wasn’t able to stop the nerves from seeping into his voice, “I’ve never… been with anyone before.”

“If you want to stop-“

“No!” The prince yelped, embarrassed by how eager he felt e sounded, “I want this, want you! Just… slow.”

Granolah nodded understandingly, he leaned down to press a quick, tender peck to the prince’s lips, “You are the one in control here,” he reminded, “So, what do you want me to do?”

His words were a soothing balm; the prince’s hesitation drained significantly. It was still present, but it had been dwarfed by desire, “Take off your tunic, slowly.” He let a purr slip into his voice, biting it his lips suggestively.

A chuckle rumbled from the Cerealian’s chest, assumed and intrigued by the prince’s cloaked request for a strip-tease. He removes his gloves first, letting the leather fall to the floor unceremoniously, followed by his belt. Next went his long gray scarf.

He begins unbuttoning the buttons of his tunic at an agonizingly slow pace, deliberately popping the buttons as his hand ran down the column. His pace was as slow when he made his way to the second row.

Tarble’s breath had gotten heavier at every small flex of Granolah’s arms as he removed his clothing. The deftness of his fingers. He had to bite at the inside of his cheek to quiet any sound that wants to slip out.

’He hadn’t even touched you, and you’r acting like this? Pathetic’

Tarble chose to ignore that thought.

The tunic was finally unbuttoned, sliding off his torso and landing on the floor with a muffled thud. All that covered his chest now was a deep green undershirt. Granolah reached behind himself and grabbed the neck of the shirt, pulling it over and off his body one handed. He let the fabric fall to the floor.

The Cerealian stood there now, upper body completely bare, chest of display for the prince. “What next?” He cooed, stretching his arms over his head to subtly flex.

Tarble, much quicker than was appropriate or expected of a prince, ripped his gloves off and placed them on the table next to his bed. Next, he removed his scouter, making sure to calm down a touch while removing it and setting it down on the same surface.

Placing his hands in the Cerealian’s waist, he glided his hand along his torso, feeling every curve, dip, and muscle under his palms. He ran his right hand along Granolah’s left shoulder and arm, feeling the firm muscles beneath the flesh. His left hand gently kneaded his pec, fingers running through the patch of hair adorning his chest.

Granolah chuckled at the prince’s lustful petting, letting himself be felt up. With unexpected strength, Table pulled him closer than before. The prince was placing kisses wherever he could reach; chest, collarbone, and neck. Needy, wet pecks interspersed with quick bites, each one pulling a gasp or groan from the Cerealian.

“I-I must admit,” Granolah commented, thoughts interrupted by a groan after a particularly harsh nip to his collar, “I never pictured it going like this.”

“Huh?” Tarble mumbled as he pulled away, eyes glazed over and slightly dazed, “How you expect it to go?” The thought that the Cerealian had imagined him in a sexual scenario before sending a bolt of arousal through his stomach, “How’d you expect it to go?”

“I thought I’d be the one worshiping you.”

That thought ripped a moan from the prince. Forcing himself away from that glorious figure, he hurriedly pulled off his armor and started placed it on the floor as neatly as his raging hormones would allow. Grabbing at his sleeve, he pulled the stretchy fabric off of his body, letting it pool at his waist; now equally as bare as his lover.

“Serve your prince, then.” His barked order was slightly hurt by how breathless he was. The growl that passed Granolah’s lips sent a shock of list straight to his cock.

“Of course, your highness.” Those words were spurred against royal flesh, followed by a slow lick and harsh sucking at the length of Tarble’s neck, pulling a moan from him.

His hands ran along the prince’s chest and arms reverently. Touch shockingly gentle, almost as if he was scared of hurting the prince.

’That won’t do’

“You can get rougher,” Tarble panted into green locks, “I’m not gonna break.”

That simple command was apparently all it took for Granolah to drag the prince forward, nearly off the bed. His touches grew more aggressive, a hand reaching up to pinch and play with a nipple.

His other hand slid down to the prince’s waist, cupping his half-erect length, grinding his palm against the shaft to coax it to full hardness.

Bucking into the forceful hand with a gasp, Tarble dropped his head back and moaned loudly. Granolah had wandered down from his neck to his chest, lips latching around the unoccupied nipple. He suckled at the nub harshly

“Oh gods!” Tarble whined, tangling a hand into Granolah’s hair, pressing the man’s face more into his heaving chest.

The rough hand stilled its movements, moving up and dipping his fingers slowly beneath the fabric at his waist, to run the tips of his fingers along the waistband of his boxers.

“Wait!” The prince gasps suddenly, pulling his knights face away from his chest. A look of surprise crossed Granolah’s face.

“Are you okay? Are you-“

“Sit on the bed. Take off your pants.”

The look of surprise morphed into one of arousal. Dragging himself away, he sat on the bed and shuffled down his pants. He looked over to the prince, who had just kicked off his boots and was shucking the rest of his jumpsuit off. He threw the blue fabric haphazardly.

Tarble kneeled there, completely bare, his hard dick had slapped against his stomach while he removed the last of his clothes. Granolah sat there with his erection tenting his boxers and his pants shoved to his knees.

The two men sat there for a few moments just staring at each other, drinking in the other’s appearance.

The prince crawled over to his knight and cupped the back of his head, bringing their mouths together as he moved into his lap to straddle him.

The kiss was intense and passionate, immediately starting ting with nibbles along the lower lip and a deft tongue slipping between teeth.

Granolah groaned into the kiss as he slid his hands down to Tarble’s ass, giving his cheeks a firm squeeze and pulling a gasp from him.

Still connected to his knight, the price leaned over to his bedside table. He pulled open the drawer and blindly searched around until he bumped against what he needed. He pulled the tub of oil out and pressed it into Granolah’s chest.

This pushed the Cerealian away. He looked down at the tub of oil, the silent gesture clear. He moved to pull his underwear down, just enough to free his cock, the length slapping again his stomach. Tarble’s gasp at the reveal made his ego swell.

He coated one of his hands in a generous amount of oil and passed it back to the prince, who dipped a few of his own fingers into the pot. He pulled the prince closer, their cocks bumping against each other and pulling a gasp from them both.

He wrapped his coated hand around both of their lengths and set a steady pace, pumping their shafts together.

The prince’s breathing was especially labored as he reached around and plunged two fingers inside himself immediately, bucking back into his own fingers unsteadily.

This new knowledge that the prince had possibly played with himself before caused the knight to groan and lean in for another kiss.

It went like this for a while; Granolah jerking them both off simultaneously while Tarble prepared himself, eventually slipping in a third finger. “I’m ready.” The prince groaned breathily, removing his own fingers from his entrance and placing his hands on his knights shoulders.

The knight removed his hands and placed his clean hand on the bed to steady them, his other rested on the prince’s hip.

Shifting and lowering himself onto his lover, Tarble whimpered as he was breached. He paused briefly to let himself adjust before sinking down fully on Granolah’s length. The sat there for a few seconds, breathing heavily and shakily.

After he adjusted, the prince raised himself up until only the tip rained inside, then slammed himself back down onto his lover, causing them both to groan in pleasure.

“Tarble~” The knight groaned at the feeling of being inside the prince, nails digging into the supple flesh of his rear.

On the prince’s next ascent and descent, Granolah thrust his hips up as the prince came down, slamming directly into his prostate.

“O-oh god! Again!” Tarble cried, control faltering from the pleasure. As he dragged himself up again he brought his knight’s face down to his, once again capturing his lips is a searing kiss.

Moans muffled as their hips met again, the prince opened his mouth to allow his lover’s entrance to his mouth. Granolah gladly accepted, sucking on the prince’s tongue greedily.

Removing his hand from the bed, the Cerealian slid his palm from the Saiyan’s thigh up to o his chest, fingers lightly brushing past his cock on the way, causing him to gasp into their lip lock. He rolled a nipple with his wife thumb, the rest of his fingers lightly scratching along his side and sending shivers through his body.

As his climax started to build, Tarble’s movements got sloppier, hands moving to dig into his knight’s toned back.

They rutted passionately for what felt like hours, how much had actually slapped entirely unknown and unimportant to them in their heated embrace.

They had eventually broken their kiss, panting and sucking in as much air as they could. The knight leaned down to place several marks along his prince’s shoulders.

The Saiyan’s bounces were getting less elegant as his orgasm approached, his speech had devolved into babbles of ‘yes’ & pleas of ‘more’ interspersed with cries of his lover’s name. He clutched at his knight, nails scraping along his back, leaving deep red welts.

Their climaxes finally overtook them both, Granolah plunging himself as he groaned into his lover’s shoulder. Tarble came with a cry of ‘I love you!’

The knight leaned back as they came down from their orgasms, the prince resting against his chest. They panted unevenly, trying to get air back into their lungs.

The prince dragged himself off of his lover and practically flopped onto the bed, beckoning for the knight to join him.

After finally fully undressing, Granolah lied down and scooped Tarble into his arms, cradling his heart his chest and lazily running his fingers through the spiky black tresses.

They knew there was still more to discuss, especially now that their relationship had changed. However, they were emotionally and physically drained, so they decided to discuss it in the morning.

They drifted off to sleep, held in each other’s warm embrace.

Chapter Text

The beaming rays of the morning sun shone through the windows of the younger prince’s bedchambers, bathing him and his new lover in light.

Waking slowly, Tarble groaned and shifted. A strange sensation on his neck fully coaxed him from sleep; the feeling of Granolah’s lips against his skin.

A contented hum passed his mouth as he leaned back into his lover’s chest, “Morning…” He greeted with a sigh.

Granolah’s reply was one he felt more than heard; rumbled against the flesh of his neck with a chuckle. That low, rough voice sent a thrill down the prince’s spine.

When his knight pulled away, taking his warmth with him, Tarble finally rolled over to look at his knight completely; messy green locks framed a soft smile, a few unruly strands of hair hanging down to brush against his jawline.

As his eyes drifted down Granolah’s form, he caught sight of the hickeys and bites he’d left on the knight’s chest and throat, the red marks causing memories of the previous night to flash through Tarble’s head.

’Last night was real…’ He chose not to voice that thought, for fear of sounding to needy. Instead, he let a bright smile spread across his face.

“We need to wake now, my prince,” The knight murmured, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before moving to rise from the bed, “You have a busy day ahead.”

Dropping his head back with a groan, Tarble dragged himself from the bed. Granolah is dressing quickly, the speed confused the prince and caused nerves to begin settling in his stomach.

“Y-you’re dressing quite quickly.” He pointed out, batting the stutter in his voice.

Differently colored eyes turned to the prince, brows knitting togetherness when they catch sight of the prince’s worried expression. Turning around fully, he quickly strides over to Tarble and leans down to press his forehead to the prince’s.

A reassuring smile crossed his face, “I need to return to my own room. I didn’t bring a change of clothes and I don’t think your’s will fit me.” He explained with a laugh, causing Tarble’s stomach to unclench and a snort to slip from his mouth unintentionally.

Nodding, the prince allows his knight to slip out the door to make the detour back to his own chambers to wash and change.

’I should do the same’

Forcing himself up, with some pain from his sore lower back, he grabbed a pair of underwear and standard blue jumpsuit and carried them under his arm.

—

After washing and dressing in standard Saiyan attire, including his scouter, a knock at the door alerted him to the return to his lover’s return.

Opening the door, the prince was greeted by his knight, now clean and dressed in his normal clothing.

Holding out his hand, he asked, “Ready for the day, my prince?” Granolah asked with a smirk.

Tarble reached out to grasp his hand, looking up to meet his eyes, he nodded.

Leaning down, the knight attempted to steal one last kiss before they had to hide their romance for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, he was stopped by the prince’s other hand against his mouth. He was not deterred though; checking to make sure they were alone, Granolah grabbed the hand at his mouth and turned it so that the back of the hand was facing him. He placed a long, deliberate kiss on the gloved knuckles before pulling away entirely and walking a couple steps away.

The prince stood there, mouth slightly agape.

Turning around, the knight flashed him a cheeky grin, “Well? Daylight’s wasting, your highness.”

The prince grumbled to himself with feigned annoyance as he caught up to his knight, walking slightly ahead of him now. Hopefully the others wouldn’t notice the hint of redness on his cheeks.

The first event of the day was breakfast; which the queen had requested that the royal family eat together that day.

Tarble found this strange; the royals would eat together semi-often, but it would usually only be dinner. They would only eat breakfast or lunch as a family if they were hosting some early meeting with allies.

Turning to face his knight, the prince raises a questioning eyebrow.

All he receives in return is a shrug, “The queen didn’t exactly explain why she wanted everyone present, just told me to bring you here as soon as you awoke.” His explanation made it clear he was just as unclear as Tarble was, possibly more so.

Turning away, the prince sighed deeply before schooling his expression into a polite, if detached smile and pushing the doors open.

—

What took place after he entered could only have been described as: ‘The most harrowing meal of Tarble’s life.’

They did have guests, it turns out; some aristocratic Saiyan family that the prince had never met before now, and have only heard about a handful of times prior. They were there to discuss a possible marriage between their daughter and Tarble, as they hadn’t been able to make it to the ball due to a previous obligation.

It was over an hour of Tarble trying to avoid and then gently decline any offers of marriage without a) insulting the young woman, or b) drawing too much suspicion to himself. He knew that if he refused too many brides, his parents would get angry.

Eventually, thankfully, the meal ended.

As Tarble moved away from the table, planning to say a quick goodbye to the visiting family before leaving to do whatever else he was scheduled for that day, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

Craning his head to look over, his eyes met his brother Vegeta’s. The older prince’s gaze was harsh, lips twisted into a frown.

Worry and confusion rose in Tarble’s gut. Had he been rude during breakfast? Was Vegeta also getting annoyed that Tarble hadn’t taken a bride yet?

The younger prince realized that, his brother wasn’t looking at his face. Instead, his eyes were planted firmly on his neck.

Panic started to bubble in Tarble’s stomach as he realized, Granolah must have left a mark on his last night!

’Does he know about me and Granolah?’

Vegeta leaned in closer, gaze now held with his brother.

“It doesn’t matter to me what you chose to do but,” His tone is harsh, almost mocking, “If you’re going to sneak around with some strumpet, at least try to hide it better.”

With that, Vegeta walked away to help Bulma up from the table, leaving his brother to stand their with his mouth agape.

Quickly slapping a hand over his mouth, Tarble had to force down the giggles that wanted to explode forth from his throat.

After a minute, he managed to cal himself down enough to turn to his knight. That was a slight mistake, he quickly realized; even though knight’s weren’t supposed to emote much, Granolah’s raised brows clearly communicated his objection at Vegeta’s intentional insult.

Tarble quickly said goodbye to the visiting aristocrats before returning to meet his lover outside the doors to the royal dining hall.

Leaning into Granolah, lowering his voice, he spoke with a wide grin, “Well, my little strumpet, where to next?”

He had never seen his knight’s face go so red so quickly.

Chapter Text

After the scare from a fortnight ago with Vegeta, Tarble & Granolah tried a lot harder to hide their new romance better.

Firstly, they decided that spending a little less time together would be the best start. This idea pained them, obviously; finally free to confess their love to each other, and having to go back to playing pretend that what they had was professional and platonic? It was maddening!

But, with much regret, they knew it was necessary.

This resulting in Tarble throwing himself more firmly into his princely duties, which lead into the second part of their plan:

Looking for a wife.

——

It was a few night after the breakfast with the visiting royal family.

The prince and his knight were in the royals bed chambers, eating dinner together like they had been for quite a while now.

Granolah been uncharacteristically silent for a few minutes while Tarble talked about his day; various meetings, training, etc. Looking deep in thought, he chewed in a way that could almost be called ‘pensive.’

All of this worried the prince, “What’s bothering you, love?” Clashing darts of elation and fear struck Tarble’s heart every time he called Granolah by some sweet little nickname; overjoyed that he could now call this man ‘his’ but, simultaneously terrified by anyone finding out.

“It’s nothing, dear,” The night attempted to reassure his lover, voice unhelpfully stilted, “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

An inhale, followed by, “I think you need to start really looking for a bride.”

Tarble’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline, “What?” Fear began to swirl through him; was Granolah getting bored of him already?

Sensing his lover’s worry, Granolah grabbed Tarble’s hands in his gently and looked into his eyes. Tarble wondered if he should be more embarrassed by how much that simple act calmed him.

The knight continued, “It’s for your benefit. You don’t have to actually get engaged or married, just pretend like you’re interested.”

Nodding along, the prince concluded that his liver was right. He’d been having similar thoughts for a bit now, “People are going to start talking if I don’t find someone.”

“Besides,” Granolah began, a rakish grin crossing his lips now, “I’ve always wanted to be a mistress.”

The genuine cackle Tarble let out momentarily startled a passing servant.

——

After that night, their plan went into action.

Which lead the prince to where he was now; sitting in the royal dining hall, waiting for a girl his mother had chosen for him to arrive.

Queen Mame Eda had been thrilled when Tarble had come to her, stating that he was now serious about finding a wife. It took practically no time for her to begin writing letters and calling different families on her scouter to set meeting dates.

She was still mainly focused on finding a Saiyan noble for the prince to marry, to ensure strong heirs in the future. Table had attempted to point out that; Vegeta had married a human, and that Saiyan hybrids were hypothesized to be even stronger than their full-blooded parent.

In classic royal fashion however, the queen chose to brush that off.

The prince had convinced his mother to consider another option, however; an off-planet spouse.

It was easy enough to discuss the benefits of marrying into the royal family of an allied planet; strengthen the alliance, establish more control over their people, etc.

Also, it wouldn’t be difficult choice for the prince, as the Saiyan’s didn’t have many allies to begin with.

This lent itself to another idea; Marrying into a planet/family they’ve already concurred.

This was the queen’s idea. Her reasoning was; if the citizen’s of said planet trust their leaders, and they marrying into the Saiyan’s family, then their views on the warrior race would improve, which would then result in another ally!

“It could also show benevolence,” Queen Mame Eda explained, pacing around the throne room as she got things together, interrupting herself only occasionally to either respond to Tarble or order a servant to do something, “By being a kind ruler.”

Wincing, Tarble thought it was pertinent to point out, “If we’ve subjugated them already, then the people probably would take a union between us and their royals well.”

She waved him off, “Nonsense, you aren’t your father, they’ll probably be at least willing to hear out the proposal.” That brought a real smile to Tarble’s face, which quickly fell as she continued, “Besides, you were too young to even remember when we committed those atrocities, you’re innocent.”

Tarble wanted to point out that, the association between himself and his parents would likely cause problems for her plan, but he chose to refrain.

Hearing the door creak before sliding open, the prince let a polite smile cross his face.

A young woman walked through the door; green tresses falling over her shoulders, wrapped in a long purple gown. Her features were familiar, but Tarble didn’t know why.

His mother followed in after the young woman, the contrast in their height emphasizing just how short Queen Mame Eda was.

The young woman sat down across from Tarble, giving the prince a chance to really study her face.

The prince had to admit, she was a very beautiful woman; arched brows, sharp nose, upturned eyes…

’She’s a Cerealian!’

Worry shot through him; he never mentioned Planet Cereal during their discussion, and he would’ve remembered if his mother had!

Did his mother know about him and Granolah?

Turning toward his mother, smile just a touch forced now, Tarble pinched his brows together in a silent question.

“Well, you mentioned the possibility of an interplanetary marriage, and you get along so well with that Cerealian guard of yours…” His mother explained, her words seeming to fade out as fear, torturously slowly, released its grip on his heart.

At some point, the queen’s word were able to pierce through her son’s inner turmoil, “… Anyway, I’ll leave you and Princess Cheeri alone to get know each other.”

With that, she walked out of the room, leaving the two young royals alone.

The prince turns to his guest, painting another gentle smile on his face, “Evening, Princess Cheeri was it-“

Her hand shot up, index finger extended to try and silence him, “I just need to make a few thing clear, Prince Tarble,” Her voice was firm, demure smile had dropped into a harsh line that boarded on a frown, “I don’t wish to marry, ever. Unfortunately, my parents do not understand that, and have been attempting to force me into an engagement for the better part of two years.”

At this revelation, a genuine smile, more like a conspiratorial grin, crossed his lips, “Oh, fear not, princess, I think we can work together…”

Chapter Text

After only a week of public appearances together, gossip about their prince and his Cerealian future bride had spread through out the castle and even wider Saiyan society.

Scandal had arose when the citizens of Planet Vegeta had flhears that the younger prince was courting a non-Saiyan; and a Cerealian at that!

“But we’ve conquered them! We already know they’re weak, what makes her worthy?” They’d cry at the news, confused and enraged after discovering the identity of their newest princess.

Obviously, Queen Mame Eda and Tarble were quick to silence this uproar.

“She WILL be your princess!” The Queen shouted over the crowd gathered outside the palace, voice going just slightly hoarse in her anger, “You will learn to respect her!”

Tarble stepped up shortly after his mother, face a mask of genuine indigence and disgust, “Princes Cheeri is a woman of nobility, with all the grace and intelligence that title carries,” Tarble couldn’t honestly say that disrespect his people were showing to Cheeri was surprising, but that knowledge still did nothing to squash his rage, “You will honor and respect her! Or else.” That threat sizzled through his teeth, the crowd going quiet in surprise at the normally calm young man’s outburst.

It was a mostly empty threat, of course; Tarble dreaded the thought of his citizens on respecting him out of fear of death by his hand. However, the warning did its job as the crowd cowed soon after.

Despite the courtship being a sham, Tarble did genuinely like and regard his faux betrothed. His people’s reaction sickened him.

His mother felt the same; fawning over the girl when they told her of their planned engagement.

Was much of her joy fueled by fear of her son never finding love and in someway dishonoring their bloodline? Yes, the younger prince was blinding to why his mother was so insistent that he marry.

But, at least she enjoyed the fantasy…

Right now, the false affianced couple sat together in the gardens, talking as the prince swatched the scene around them. Needing to be seen together as much as possible to convince his family and kingdom that their romance was genuine, the garden was the best option for meeting.

Stopping his sketch, Tarble turned to his companion, “If you don’t mind me asking, Princess Cheeri,” he waited for her to glance at him before continuing, “Why don’t you wish to marry? You seem outright disgusted by the very idea when we first met.”

Her eyes turned away from him, fiddling with the zinnia Tarble had given to her earlier, “I’ve never really felt attraction to anyone. Part of it might be that I’ve… never had many friends.”

A pang of sorrow and sympathy struck Tarble’s heart. An aftertaste of guilt followed as he thought that his parent’s actions might’ve exacerbated her isolation.

Cheeri continued, “As a princess, most of the other children my age were friendly, don’t get me wrong, but I was often too busy with royal duties to spend too much time with them. My parents’ associates were often soldiers, who were generally childless,” a scowl twisted her lips at her thoughts, “My father had many issues with me hanging around the ‘commoner’ children.”

“He thought it would ruin your family’s status somehow? Shame him?” Tarble interjected, another moment of connection discovered between the two.

Scoffing, the princess nods, “And because I never learned how to talk to others, I have no clue how to interact with others my age!” She shoots to stand, softly throwing the zinnia on the stone bench.

“And the men they pick as my suitors?” She screeched, turning to the prince. Her teeth were gritted and eyes blazing with vexation, “They see me as nothing more than a political pawn or a step at gaining power, at best! Half of these bastard see me as barely more than some glittery breeding sow!” Her breathing was heavy, hands clenched so tightly Tarble almost worried that her nails would pierce through the flesh of her palms.

All at once, Cherri’s shoulders sag and hands hang loose and open at her sides. Her breathing evens out, sounding almost… defeated…

Reaching down to pluck a yellow rose from the grass, Tarble quietly asks her to lean down a little so that he can reach her face. She does so.

As he ties the stem of the rose in her hair, their eyes lock, a deep sense of understanding passed between them.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Cheeri questioned, voice more tired than he ever wanted to hear, “To be ignored for most of your childhood, then used like a betting token, with no regard for your feelings?”

A quiet reply followed, “More than you know.”

A short stint of silence followed as the prince finished tying the rose in her hair. Drawing his hands away, their eyes stayed locked for a few moments more.

“While I can’t change your views on marriage,” Tarble began, a small, genuine smile crossing his lips, “I hope I can at least help you make a friend.”

Giggling, Cheeri grins at him, “Well, they say your spouse should be your best friend, right? And we are meant to be betrothed!”

The two royals break into a fit of laughter, the mood significantly brighter after Cheeri’s impassioned venting about her situation.

As their laughter died down, a beaming grin replaced Cheeri’s previously dower expression, her joy matching Tarble’s.

Apparently emboldened by their honest conversation, the prince chose to pry just a bit more, “I don’t want to make this strange but, have you ever wondered if the reason you never found a suitor to love is because your desires lean towards… more feminine directions?”

Now he worried he was overstepping, but it was just too enticing to not at least ask; with how similar they seemed to be, it was worth it at least ask.

She shakes her head, not visibly put off or surprised by his inquiry, “I wondered that myself but, after secretly sharing a peck with one of the servant girls close to my age in my room one night, I felt nothing. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a crush, to be honest.”

The prince hums and nods. Truthfully, this idea was new to him, but he didn’t want to pry further, secretly worried about scaring the princess off from a friendship they both desperately needed.

“And,” Cherri’s voice dropped to a whisper as she bent down to speak, “While you may not be attracted to me specifically, I can guess that my features are… pleasing to you…”

Her eyes flick over to Granolah, who was speaking with another guard a few feet away. Her smile was mischievous and coy.

Surprise flashed across Tarble’s face, were they really that obvious?

She shook her head, her smile becoming Cheshire-like, “I won’t tell, promise. Just wanted to point out, you do seem to have a type.” She ended her sentence with a giggle.

Well, Tarble couldn’t say she was wrong!

Chapter Text

’They really should think about painting the walls sometime’

Wondering thoughts were all that Granolah had to occupy himself as he traced his path on his guard shift.

Tarble was currently with his mother, the Queen; she was teaching him about proper royal Saiyan marriage traditions. From the little he knew, it included a pre-ceremony fight with the betrothed’s father or mother.

A about left the Cerealian as he imaged a Saiyan etiquette class; a lesson about proper place settings getting interrupted by the instructor throwing a punch at an unsuspecting nobleman.

His musings were interrupted when he caught sight of Princess Cherri wandering the halls. He dropped into a deep bow, showing respect to his homeworld’s princess.

With a giggle and a curtsy, the princess told him, “You can get up now.”

Standing straight now, Granolah sent her a smile, “Your highness, how’ve you been? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” In fact, this was the first time he had seen his planet’s princess in person ever.

“Well, obviously life’s been much more stressful since our planet’s invasion all those years ago,” a grimace twisted at her mouth, “Especially being brought up to eventually rule.”

Granolah nodded solemnly, the memories still haunting him occasionally.

“However,” She continued, frown turning to a hopeful smile, “Our people have actually been getting much better recently! Most of the damage done has been fixed, and our population has stabilized quite a bit!”

Surprise streaked across his face, chased after quickly by joy, “Oh really? That’s wonderful!” He knew the Cerealian’s would recover eventually, but in such a short time? His mother would be especially pleased, it seemed like she’d been more homesick than usually lately; due to the ‘engagement’ of Princess Cheeri to Prince Tarble.

“Are we ready for travel again? My mother would love to visit our home planet sometime soon, as would I.”

“Oh, yes! We have about half of our ships operational at the moment, and we’re working on more everyday.” Princess Cheeri explained, pride in her voice, “It would be lovely to see you and your mother again, I think my dear ‘husband’ would love to accompany you.” She finished with a wry grin. She was met with a chuckle.

“Oh! Speaking of which, if it isn’t rude to ask,” Granolah reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to his princess, “Would you mind giving this note to Prince Tarble?”

She smiles, a twinkle in her eyes, “Of course, my dear.”

——

Candlelight flickers in the dark, shining in the darkness between the large, gorgeous windows of the Saiyan palace.

He held the note in his left hand, the candleholder held tightly, if slightly unsteadily, in his right.

Meet me in the music hall, Midnight
Watch that you aren’t followed - G

Princess Cheeri had slipped the note to him early that day before they parted, a knowing smirk across her blush-pink lips.

“From your special admirer~” She cooed. Her guard had smirked at Tarble, likely assuming that this note held some lurid longings from the heart of his princess; words that can never be said out loud. Things only ever spoken through heated sighs beneath the moons glow.

While he might not be entirely wrong, the write was certainly not the same Cerealian as his elegant royal highness.

As he wandered through the halls, the gentle sounds of a piano sung in the air, beckoning the prince forward. Like a sailor following the call of a siren’s song.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a wooden door, the muffled sounds of the piano now much stronger than before.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Granolah; sat at the castle’s antique grand piano, playing a soft melody.

He was shrouded in darkness, his face was all that was illuminated, presented to Tarble by the light of a candle atop the lid. He wore a leather eyepatch over his red eye.

Tarble slowly crept behind his lover, gently placing his candle on a small table, he wrapped his arms around his knight’s neck from behind.

Fingers slowing, Granolah turned to look at his prince, “I see you received my note.” He purred.

Humming, the asked, “So, what did you call me here? And so late at night too.” He hand an idea of what the other was planning, but he wanted to hear it from his lips.

Turning around to face Tarble, Granolah wrapped his arms around the prince’s waist. His gaze was lidded, “Well, since you’ve began your false engagement with my home-planet’s princess, we haven’t had much time for each other.” The purr in his voice and low timbre made his meaning explicitly clear.

Tarble released a low laugh, nuzzling his nose into Granolah’s hairline, “You were the one to suggest this plan, love.”

“Yes, yes, I know. That doesn’t stop the longing though.”

A breathy chuckled preceded Tarble leaning down to gently lock lips with his lover.

This soft kiss soon turned heated and passionate, Granolah pressing his lover as close as possible as he nibbled at the prince’s lower lip.

Tangling his finger through green locks, Tarble open his mouth to let their tongues intertwine. His cock stores with interest, a too-long ignored need beginning to build.

He pulled away soon after, lips swollen and shiny. Dropping to his knees, the prince’s hand snap to his lover’s belt.

“W-what? My prince-“

“A prince is meant to take care of s subjects, is he not?” His words came out breathless, smirk salacious and hands hurriedly pulling at his knight’s garments.

In his haste, a small vile of oil slips from Granolah’s pocket, falling next to the prince’s knees. Grinning wickedly, Tarble coos, “You were confident that you could woo me, hm?”

“You can’t call me desperate when you achingly like this.” Granolah countered, twisting his finger in the prince’s coarse hair and shoving his face into his crotch, forcing a moan from the prince.

“Huh, touché.”

After he managed to remove Granolah’s pants, he went to work on waking his half-hard cock into fully erecting. He lightly suckled at the head, slowing sliding the rest of the length into his mouth.

He was unceremoniously pulled ways from his knight’s dick, forced to look into the other’s eyes. His eye was now heavily lidded, such a deep blue it was nearly black from desire.

His voice was ragged and needy, “My love, I don’t think I can handle this teasing tonight.”

With surprising gentleness, the prince’s hand snap was lifted onto his back on the bench. Flushed face and lustful gaze illuminated only by the light of the candles in the dark room.

“You look ethereal.” The knight breathed.

The prince’s armor was quick shed and his jumpsuit pulled down to his knees, his boxers ripped away soon after.

Tarble clutched at the bench as he was prepared sloppily, legs clenching around Granolah’s ribs as he thrashed his head in ecstasy.

Inelegantly slathering oil over his length, the knight plunged himself into his prince.

“Oh gods!” The prince cried as he threw his head back, chest heaving with exertion, “M-move, please!”

That desperate cry was the only command Granolah needs to start snapping his hips against the prince’s ass.

His pace was hurried, fueled by the lovers sybaritism feeding into each other.

Tarble clutched at his knight’s face and brought it into his neck, arms wrapping around his arms around his head to tangle in his hair.

Pleas of ‘faster,’ ‘harder,’ and ‘more’ flowed from the prince’s lips in desperate cries, hips canting to meet his lover’s thrusts.

Granolah wrenches himself away, Tarble’s hands sliding down to grip at his shoulders, nails digging into the taut skin. Their lips meet in a messy kiss, more panting into each other’s mouths more than anything coordinated or artful.

Their lips part.

“I’m close.”

Thrusts get sloppier

“M-me too.”

Grinding gets more imprecise.

“W-want to see you when you cum~”

“Ooh gods!”

Their organs crash over them sooner than either expected, pure indulgence overtaking them as they groaned in pleasure. Their release painting them the ultimate evidence of their hedonism.

Their bodies sagged as exhaustion washed over them, movements sluggish as they were forced to pull away.

As they dressed lazily, a tired chuckle passed through Granolah’s lips.

Tarble turned to his lover and raised a brow, “What’s so funny, love?”

A wry grin now plastered the knight’s face, “I knew I’d like being a mistress~”

Chapter Text

Wandering around the halls of her castle, Cheeri pondered what her and Tarble were supposed to do after the wedding.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t communicate much right now, as per tradition; the engaged couple weren’t supposed to see each other for a week before the wedding.

Between Tarble’s training for the post-vow duel against Cherri’s father, and helping his own mother with various last-minute details, the prince was practically unreachable.

Cheeri was also currently being taught what was expected of a ruler (most of which had been drilled into her mind since she could stand), as well as what was expected of a wife…

A shudder ran through her as she remembered her mother attempting to explain what she was expected of her on her wedding night.

The people of both planets were quite perplexed and scandalized by the quickness at which they were getting married, having only been ‘courting’ each other for around six or seven weeks, far quicker than was expected for even Saiyans; who normal courted each other for around 2 months at least.

This caused rumors to circulate about the Cerealian princess being with child, and both royal families were rushing the union to avoid the scandal and controversy of a bastard heir.

Obviously, that bit of gossip was quickly squashed by the ‘affianced’ couple.

’They’ll expect an heir eventually. Both our kingdoms, but my parents especially… Cheeri ran her nails along her knuckles in worry.

Prince Vegeta IV was both the firstborn and crowned heir of the Saiyan dynasty. On top of that, Bulma was heavily pregnant so, a successor was guaranteed. Tarble being wedded and siring and heir was simply insurance of the royal line continuing in case the true inheritor died somehow.

The Cerealian royals, however, didn’t have that option.

Princess Cheeri was her parent’s only child; pregnancy having taken such a toll on her mother that she’d almost died in childbirth.

Her parents loved her, well, her mother did at least. The Queen of Planet Cereal was a stern ruler and a loving mother, often assisting their chemists and healers in improving their medicine and care. She arguably spoiled her daughter a little too often, at least according to her father.

The King of Planet Cereal had been furious initially, when he heard that his daughter was betrothed to the younger Saiyan prince; ranting and raving about how they were never to be trusted again after what they did to their beloved planet. Cheeri, despite entirely understanding her father’s reasoning, talked him down as best she could and assured him that she wasn’t being forced into anything.

In recent weeks though, he’d been oddly… calm? Almost jolly, which is a strange reaction from the normally curmudgeonly man.

Cheeri didn’t want to admit it, even to herself but, she didn’t trust it; her father’s sudden support of her matrimony. She knew he was planning something, she had a few theories, she just couldn’t quite figure out what.

———

“What a beautiful wedding!”

That was the first sentence out of basically every guest’s mouth when they laid eyes on the beautiful venue for the day’s ceremony.

As requested by the couple, their ceremony was being held in the back gardens of the Saiyan royal palace, in an obscenely large marquee tent covered by an intricately crafted sheer white canopy. A path cut between the two aisles of seats to the small white and blue gazebo at the farther end of the center.

Tarble stood on the right side of the aisle, dressed in his people’s traditional wedding attire; a white jumpsuit, pristine white and silver chest plate, and a deep blue cape, topped by a gold wreath-like crown atop his brow.

Granolah stood behind him, dressed in his standard uniform.

The sea of murmurs that had washed through the crowd went silent when the band began playing the wedding march; signaling the arrival of the bride.

Arm in arm with her father, Princess Cheeri was the definition of elegance and beauty. In a mermaid dress with a sheet overlay and an off the shoulder neckline, the bright bouquet of iris and alstroemeria complemented her wonderfully. Tarble could tell that she was having to resist touching the small silver tiara in her hair, as she complained it scratched her.

“Now that both parties are present, we can begin!” Announced the officiant.

It began with Tarble reading his vows. He wrote about his admiration for the princess, her kindness, her wit and honesty, etc. It was not meant to be romantic, but he still meant every word he said.

Especially when he ended his speech with, “I never thought someone could understand me like you do.” She was one of the few people, aside from Granolah, that saw Tarble for who he was, outside of his family or title.

Evidently, his speech had brought a few of their guests to tears. As well as Cheeri herself, if her gently wiping the corner of her eye was any indication.

Now was her turn. Her speech followed similarly; she spoke of Tarble’s kindness and his various talents, his humbleness, as well as complimenting his skill in battle, to the sound of several proud cheers. All meant completely genuinely.

“I’m so glad to have met you, Tarble.” She finished her speech, mouth quirked into a small smile and eyes as shiny as his own.

The officiant gave them a few moments to compose themselves before continuing, “If anyone has any reason to think that these two should not get married holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold-“

A booming voice interrupted the officiant, “I object!”

A cacophony of gasps rang out as everyone turned to stare at the objection’s source; the Cerealian King.

The Saiyan Prince could hear Granolah mumble, “M-My liege?” In confusion at his former ruler’s outburst.

“Father?” Cheeri cried in questioning, eyes darting nervously around to see if anyone had a clue as to what’s going on.

The king was not deterred by the crowd’s shock, “This ceremony can’t continue any longer! This wedding is a sham!”

Stealing a glance at his lover, the prince can see that his knight’s posture is more ridged than it has ever been, clearly showing his anxiety about the unexpected turn of events.

Facing his faux-bride and friend, he can see that her posture in a similar state, eyes wide in terror.

“W-what do you mean?” Shouted the officiant, clearly not used to someone objecting at a wedding; especially not a king who’s also the bride’s father.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The King of Planet Cereal retorted, now standing tall, reading for a fight. “You can’t go through with blessing this union, because this ‘marriage’ is a scam!”

Chapter Text

Fear and tension seemed to fill the open area of the marquee tent, hanging in the air like a full, dark cloud before a storm.

Standing proud, the Cerealian King trudged to the front of the venue, now in front of the royal couple. He turned to address the guests.

“Since their engagement is fraudulent, this ceremony can’t continue!” His voice boomed over the crowd, posture firm and defiant.

King Vegeta III shot up, clearly enraged by the visiting monarch’s assumed disrespect, “What are you talking about? You and your kingdom agreed to this union months ago!” Queen Mame Eda jumped to stand soon after the king. Whether it was in preparation of a fight, or to hold her husband back from striking the Cerealian, was currently unknown.

Panic welled up inside Tarble, hidden behind a mask of shock. Glancing over to Cheeri, her face appeared as a mix of surprise and anger. She’d mentioned her doubt regarding her father’s ‘approval’ regarding their relationship.

”My father’s planning something, Tarble.” She’s whispered, distress and madness edging into her words.

“But what, though?” He asked, eyes darting around to insure that none of the servants are listening in.

“I’m not sure yet, but I have a hunch that he’ll make happens known soon after the wedding.”

She’d been right about everything but the king’s timing, it seemed.

King Vegeta’s interrogation had not cowed the Cerealian King though, “You and your race of savages destroyed my beautiful planet, enslaved my people,” His gaze shot to Granolah for the briefest of moments, breathing seemingly getting just a touch heavier, “and your truly believed I would hand my daughter over to you? Clearly, your bloodlust is only overshadowed by your ego, Vegeta.”

A snarl ripped its way from the Saiyan royal patriarch, the slight against his title upsetting him greatly.

As she pulled her husband back, Queen Mame Eda finally spoke, “You still haven’t explained why our children’s marriage can’t commence!”

“It was a sham from the start!”

Gasps of shock rolled through the crowd, heads snapping around to check that they heard the king correctly.

“I never intended to marry my daughter off to you people,” He spit the last word like poison, “This was my plan from the start!”

“What plan?” The queen cried, a visible rage starting to light behind her eyes.

Face turning from defiant to downright wicked, the Cerealian King cried out, “Now soldiers!”

Dozens upon dozens of guards surrounded the venue in what felt almost instant.

Distressed and alarmed shouting followed, everyone turning to the Saiyan royal leaders for insight and guidance, even though they had none either.

Waves upon waves of Saiyan soldiers rushed out of the palace, weapons held tightly and ready to aim.

The two kings and the queen were locked in a standstill, each side daring the other to attack first, give them a reason to spill the other’s blood across the garden.

Cheeri and Tarble made no attempt to move yet, unsure of which one of their kingdoms will officially begin the battle.

Glancing over to his brother, Tarble saw that Prince Vegeta was more focused on protecting Bulma than attempting to intervene in their parent’s dispute. That thought provided the younger prince with the first calming thought in what felt like the whole day.

Suddenly, another voice piped up, one not yet heard that day, “My liege! Please, don’t do this!”

’Granolah!?’

Standing in front of his home-planet’s leader, Granolah’s voice was strong, though his words were pleading.

The Cerealian King’s posture seemed to straighten even further. Even though he couldn’t see the older man’s eyes, the prince just knew that fire burned behind them.

“You dare disrespect me, boy? These people destroyed our planet! Slaughtered untold number of our people!” The King shouted in his face, voice a slurry of righteous anger and disbelief. “They stole you away from your planet, forced you to serve one of their royal brats as his meat shield.”

Guilt began to rush through Tarble, bile bubbling in his stomach. It was like hearing his own damning thoughts spoken aloud by another.

A flash of doubt briefly broke through Granolah’s mask of assurance, but he quickly recovered his stance, “That isn’t true! I was never forced to do anything! Prince Tarble has never forced me into anything, and neither has Queen Mame Eda!” Granolah defended desperately, “I know what the royals of Planet Vegeta have done in the past, but please, my king, don’t start this war!”

Silence filled the room, everyone waiting anxiously for the King’s reply.

Judging by his theory chuckle and the looks of panic washing over the crowd, it wasn’t good.

“So, even the traitor admits that King Vegeta is a monster?” His sneer of the word ‘traitor’ was all that interrupted his mocking, near cooing tone.

“I never-“

The Cerealian King didn’t give him a chance to rebut, before aiming and firing a blast at King Vegeta, pairing through his armor, through his shoulder.

Blood erupted violently from the wound as a scream wanted it way from King Vegeta’s throat as he clutched his shoulder in agony, his crimson blood rapidly seeping through his white glove, staining it.

In what felt like an instant, all hell broke loose.

Energy blasts and shots passed through the air, accompanied by the screams of soldiers and guests alike. The guests rushed from the tent, dodging the fight as best they could.

Granolah was unceremoniously thrown to the side by his home-planet’s King, as he had a bigger target; the Saiyan Quee

Queen Mame Eda launched herself at the Cerealian King, pelting boats at him as she charged. The King attempted to aim a devastating blow, but the Queen was simply too quick.

She barreled into him, dream slamming into his chest and sending both of them hurdling through the gazebo.

Scrambling to get up to standing, Granolah’s head whipped over to the gazebo, when the two royal heirs stood in shock.

Once they noticed him, they both quickly moved to grab him and drag him from the rapidly caving tent, haphazardly avoiding gunshots all the while.

The trio made their way into a small stone room, the entrance to the palace’s kitchens. Aside from some minor bruising, they all seemed to be be fine.

They tried to catch their breathes as they hatched a plan.

“I knew it! It was a revenge plot, it should’ve have been obvious!” Cheeri berated herself as she leaned against the wall, tearing the skirt of her dress with a well hidden dagger.

“What do we do know? Your father wants justice, and my mother won’t back down ‘til she has his head on a pike!” Tarble shouted. His mother was a brutal woman when she needed to be, and know that she’s fighting the man who attacked and wounded her husband? Only death could stop her at this point.

“We have to fight.”

The two royals looked at Granolah, and then each other.

They knew this was the only way through this.

Turning to the guard, Cheeri spoke first, “What do we do first?”

Chapter Text

Their plan went as such: Tarble and Princess Cheeri were to run out first and head into the battle. Cheeri attempts to calm down/ reason with the Cerealian forces, while Tarble does the same with the Saiyan’s.

If they succeed; they lead their respective factions in a joined battle against the King of Planet Cereal.

If they fail; attack and defeat their own forces, avoiding killing them, obviously. The royals’ betrayal will distract the soldiers enough for Granolah to escape and make sure King Vegeta was still alive. There was a chance of recruiting him as well if he was in a good enough shape to fight.

After that, enlist the help of Prince Vegeta; Who, as far as the three of them knew, was probably hiding Bulma somewhere safe close by.

Finally: find the currently brawling Saiyan Queen and Cerealian King and attempt to stop one of them from killing the other, potentially plummeting the peace between the two planets even further.

Was it an easy, or even particularly smart, plan? No, honestly. But it was their best chance right now.

Disbanding, the trio put this scheme into motion.

Most warriors on both sides were spread out, making it harder for the royals to rabble them together to reason with them.

A large portion of the Cerealian forces were huddled in a group under the mostly shredded tent, using the overturned and scattered remnants of the wedding ceremony as cover.

Rushing over to her people, Princess Cheeri shouted, “I command you all to stop! Cease fire!”

Lowering their guns briefly, confusion and concern seemed to wash over the soldiers. Where was the princess before? Why was she trying to stop them now?

“The Saiyan’s are not our enemies! Most of the population is innocent; children and non-combatants!” She pleaded to her people, voice booming and steady, with just a slight strain.

Despite her protests, her soldiers refused to stand down or surrender. They didn’t know the specific Saiyan’s that had destroyed their home planet, so the only way to make sure that that they had gotten their revenge, was to eradicate all of them.

“An eye for an eye!” The General had cried, blaster held high.

“I beg all of thee, reconsider, please!” Her words came out as near pleas, desperately not wanting to cause her people anymore harm than they had already endured.

These actions seemed to anger the soldiers, shouts of ‘traitor’ and questions against her loyalty roared through the group. Many thought she had been hypnotized by the Saiyan royals, some simply assumed she was not strong enough n enough to lead her people after all, that she didn’t have the grit a ruler needed.

The General sneered at her, lip twisted to a scowl, “You’ve never been fit to rule. You aren’t strong enough; weak in body and conviction.”

Doubt had turned into outright hostility and disgust. She hated to admit it but, she had no choice.

Cheeri didn’t revel in battle but, she’d been trained in multiple forms of combat from a young age. As the sole heir of the thrown of Planet Cereal, her wellbeing and survival were the top priorities of many throughout her kingdom

Rushing at the general, Cheeri threw her arm out to grab the general’s left arm to wrench the older woman forward and unbalance her. Pulling her opponent to the side, she raised her right leg and quickly slammed her knee into the General’s ribs.

Grabbing onto her other arm, the princess flipped the General around so that her front was facing the crowd of soldiers. Digging her knee into the older woman’s back, Cheeri pressed all of her body weight against the General, causing them both to fall and driving the General into the ground face-first.

Only a couple soldiers were brave enough to actively go against their princess, especially after her display of battle prowess against their leader.

She dealt with these two quickly; charing at the first one and leaping off of a piece of broken wood that might one have been part of the gazebo, delivering a flurry of kicks to his head and sending him hurdling to the ground. As the other fighter rushed at her, Cheeri wrapped an arm around his neck and swung herself around so she was behind him. Locking her legs around his torso, she forced her other arm against the back of his throat, grabbed both her elbows, and squeezed with all her might.

The soldier tried to throw it pry her off him, movements erratic as he lost air. Cheeri countered these attempts though, squeezed even harder than before and trying to throw him off balance, like before.

After he collapsed, unconscious but still alive, she turned to the remaining group of mercenaries. Looks of shock and fear now painted their previously aggressive visages.

“So,” Cheeri began, voice hardened and eyes dark, demeanor much more sure than previously, “Are you willing to hear me out now?”

—

It appeared it would be harder to reason with the Saiyan warriors, partially due to how scattered they were.

There was a small group surrounding King Vegeta, attempting to help him stand.

When Granolah arrived, the older man was trying to muscles the soldier attempting to help him off, grunting in pain and slouching into himself. The King’s eyes flicked up to Granolah, now slightly with anger, “You! Did you know about this?”

“I promise you, my liege, I had no clue!” He decided not to mention Cherri’s suspicions about her father’s dealings, in case the man before him started assuming she was involved.

His words didn’t appease the king, though, “Liar! I saw him look to you! You must’ve been-“

“I assure you, my liege, I had never met my planet’s king before today! I’d never spoken to him either!” His words came out frantic and pitiful than intended, stumbling through fear.

Several other guards started backing the Cerealian up, giving the man alibis for the last few months at least.

“It’s true, father,”. Granolah had nothing to do with this attack.”

All heads whipped around to stare at Prince Vegeta, who’d just arrived. Eyes stern and mouth pinched into a grim line, his eyes bore into Granolah’s soul.

He continued speaking to his father, “His loyalty to Tarble alone wouldn’t let him betray him.”

A shock of fear rushed through Granolah’s heart, but he covered it by strengthening his posture and holding eye contact with the older prince.

’Does he know about me and Tarble?’ If he did, then why would he defend Granolah? Vegeta was a difficult man to read at the best of times.

If the universe decided to bless him, who was Granolah to question fate?

The older prince’s words seemed to convince the king, “So, you’ll fight against your own king?” He spat that title out like blood in his mouth.

“Yes.” Granolah said definitively with a firm nod.

King Vegeta’s eye narrowed to slits, “What have to come to ask?”

“I ask for your warriors support against the King of Planet Cereal.” His voice was fierce, as was his gaze.

A derisive snort pulled focus to Prince Vegeta, “You have me and my father at your feet, and you ask for our soldiers? You’re either far too humble, or too stupid.” He sneered, yet his gravely voice was oddly lighthearted.

The first chuckle in what felt like days was punched out of Granolah, surprised and amused. Only Vegeta could sound like he’s mocking you while offering you help, “Your highness, are you offering to take orders?”

His smirk turned to a grimace bear instantly, “I’m offering you help, not obedience. Remember your role.”

Shaking his head with a small laugh, the Cerealian turned to the king, “Are you able to fight, my king?”

The King’s dark eyes flicked wordless to his shoulder, dried blood now staining the wound. His gaze drifted over to Granolah, “I’ve fought through worse.”

—

“Why won’t you all just listen to me? Please, one minute!”

Tarble’s attempt to round up and recruit the scattered warriors wasn’t as easy as he’d originally hoped.

The warriors weren’t willing to listen to reason; they had an excuse to fight, they were gong to enjoy it, a battle to the death especially so.

It didn’t help that many of the soldiers didn’t respect him in general either; seeing him as weaker due to his low battle power as an infant, despite his lineage, and his less violent disposition.

Because of these issues, the prince had been spending the last half hour knocking out his own warriors.

Barreling into a newer graduate, the prince kept his own tail wrapped tightly around his waist as he grabbed the other’s tail and yanked as he slammed his shoulder into the soldier’s spine, knocking him to the ground.

“If you only could just hear me out-!” His exasperated cries fell on deaf ears as he heard another Saiyan charging at him from behind.

A resigned huff passed his lips as he turned around to face down his next opponent, a huge man with half-shaved, shaggy hair barring down on him with a knife.

’Strangely antique…’ Was the furthest Tarble’s thought could go as the larger man swung at him, attempting drive the blade into his shoulder.

The blade missed as he reeled back, the man could only achieve a bloodless nick along the prince’s jaw.

As his opponent was already off balance, Tarble took this opportunity to strike. His slipped between the brute’s legs, wrapping his tail around one of his ankles, and pulling hard as he landed behind him.

He reached up to jerk his tail as well, effectively immobilizing him for a few moments. Many Saiyan’s never trained their tails; they assumed their Great Ape transformation would protected them enough to where they would never need too.

The man fell face-first to the ground with a ‘thud’ so violent it shook the dirt below.

Slumping forward, the prince took a few moments to catch his breath. A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, causing his to wheel around to attack again…

It was a young woman a few inches taller than himself, with wild hair that ended at about her shoulders; Choi!

“Oh, thank the gods!” Tarble breathed out, finally someone he could actually talk to; they may not speak often, but he knew her well enough that they had a decent repartee.

She giggled a little, “Wedding day’s been rough, huh?” She waved her free hand in the air, apparently trying to call someone over.

His only reply was a groan, causing the girl to cackle. As her laughter died down, an older man wandered over to the pair.

Turning his head to look at him, the prince’s face lit up, “General Peppers!”

A gentle smile crossed the man’s mildly wrinkled visage, “Need assistant, your highness?” His tone was lighthearted, yet genuine.

“We’re at your service, Prince!” Choi followed with a mock salute, making Tarble chuckle.

“You two willing to help defeat a king?”

“Of course!” They both replied, with wildly differing levels of intensity.

A confident grin now crossed Tarble’s face, “Alright, follow me then!”

Chapter Text

Meeting at the hole in the wall around the castle, the first casualty of the Queen’s rage, everyone was bracing themselves for what was about to happen.

Princess Cheeri knew her father; he was not a cowardly man. There was a chance he would see this legion of people after him, the entire Saiyan royal family, their troops, his own people, and even his own daughter, and see it as a challenge. Another opportunity to prove his strength and skill as a warrior. The King didn’t need a collection of soldiers, when he was a one man army all himself.

On the other hand, The King wasn’t a stupid man either; If there was a clear sign of failure, or anything that signaled he needed to change tactics, he was unnervingly adaptable. If he saw surrender as the more viable option, there was a chance he’d take it.

He was prideful, but not to the point of death.

’I hope…’ The princess mused internally.

Cheeri shared these thoughts with Tarble and Granolah, “I’m not sure if he can be reasoned with at this point.” Regret slipped into her voice, though she tried to hide it.

Granolah nodded understandingly, he’d heard rumors of his King’s battle prowess since birth. “Hopefully he’ll back down when he sees what he’s up against.”

“That is, if my mother hasn’t already rendered him a corpse by now.” Tarble commented sardonically, punching a shocked laugh from his lover.

The princess’s lips grimaced, obviously dreading the idea that he might be right. The prince was about to apologize, until he was interrupted by his brother’s voice.

“What are you waiting for? I’m getting tired standing around and hearing you three talk instead of doing anything!” Vegeta barked at them, his sentiments being echoed through the crowd.

Turning to each other, the trio turned around to speak to their soldiers.

“We will go in to this ordeal aiming for a non-violent surrender from my father!” The princess called out over the gathering, voice loud and firm despite the minute spark of trepidation in her eyes.

“If that the Cerealian King chooses to fight, however,” the younger Saiyan prince chimed in, “Then we won’t back down! We’ll give him the battle of his life!” The second half of his command gained wild cheers from his people, always eager for a brawl.

The Cerealian knight spoke last, voice far more authoritative than it should be for someone of his rank, “We will show his majesty that we will not bow to him!”

”To battle!” The trio called to rally their troops, marching off to face the mad royal.

—

It was a devastating scene they witnessed.

The King of Planet Cereal had Queen Mame Eda in a clinch, holding the struggling woman against his chest as her feet kicked in the air. The two fighters were horribly bruised and bloodied, but it seemed that these injuries still weren’t severe enough for either of them to quit yet.

Granolah was forced to hold back the Saiyan King, with help from Prince Vegeta, thankfully, to stop the man from rushing in to help his wife.

“Father!” Cheeri shouted, hand wrapped loosely around the hilt of her, still sheathed, sword, “Let the Queen go! We don’t want a fight!”

Turning to face his daughter, still holding the aforementioned Queen, he barked out a deep, derisive bout of laughter, “Oh? You think you can defeat me?”

“You’re alone! Your soldiers are loyal to Cheeri now!” Tarble retorted, chest out and posture confident. His hands were balled into fists and rested at his side, ready to fight.

His laughter continued, almost becoming more mocking, “Oh, do you they now?” He shook his head disappointedly, “Truly, I thought you two would be smarter.”

“What are you-“ Granolah began, until he was cut off by a blaster shot whizzing past his head. Turning his head, shock soon filled his face.

The Cerealian soldiers, who they’d all thought had come around to support them, had their weapons raised and ready to fire. About a third had their blasters pointed at Princess Cheeri. Another few had their aims set on Granolah.

Tutting, the King threw Queen Mame Eda away, letting the woman roll a few feet away, until she slammed into a tree. Turning back to the crowd, his face grew much more sinister. “Oh, dear daughter. You should know that my soldiers, “he raised his left arm in some kind of signal, “Are only loyal to Me.”

“Don’t do this father! Please!” Cheeri begged, tears begging to build behind her eyes. Her hand had drawn away from her sword, now raised in acquiescence.

Her pleas were met with ridicule, “You should’ve know you couldn’t beat me, love,” The King jeered, face morphing into a sneer, “Your not built for battle, and you certainly not built to rule.” Throwing down his arm, he commanded the Cerealian force to fire.

Ducking quickly, Princess Cheeri rushed forward and raced up the hill her father stood atop. Granolah and Tarble followed after her, deftly and quickly avoiding the blasts.

Risking a glance back, Tarble sighed with relief as he saw that his people, as well as his brother and father, were defending them from the foreign troops.

Shocked, the King was momentarily unable to defend himself, allowing his daughter to land a punch to his left cheek. The smack of flesh meeting flesh was accompanied by a stomach-churning ‘crunch.’

Stumbling back and clutching his face, the King turned to the Princess, eyes blazing with rage, “You ungrateful, stupid bitch!” He spat the words out, along with a little blood.

“Last chance, father! Tell the troops back down! Or else.” Cherri’s eyes seemed to darken as she ended with that vague threat.

The King responded with a grunt, and firing a quick blast at his daughter. Due to his exhaustion, he was slightly off as the princess jerked to dodge the blast. It didn’t miss completely, searing past her upper arm. She let out a scream of pain and clutched her bicep.

Quickly recovering, as the burn only lasted for a fleeting moment, the princess rushed at her father as the Saiyan prince and his guards did the same.

Granolah came from the side and slammed his body into his King’s side, driving his elbow into the older man’s ribs and sending him down to the ground.

The King slammed into the ground and scraped through the dirt. He hobbled to stand, joints piping and creaking with every laborious movement.

Using the King’s distraction to his advantage, Tarble aimed a blast at his shoulder from behind. It pierced through the armor and seared his flesh, causing the King to screech in pain.

Leaving the two heirs to fight, the knight rushed over to Queen Mame Eda, who was attempting to regain her stamina, wobbling a little as she stood.

“Are you alright, My Queen?” Granolah questioned softly as he looked the woman over, judging the severity of her injuries; which were arguably mild, considering the intensity the Queen was famous for.

“I’m fine.” She replied, voice ragged and clipped. Even if she was seriously hurt, she likely wouldn’t tell him anyway; if she could stand, then she could still fight.

A slight smirk appeared on the knight’s face, “Then I assume that means you’re well enough to finish this fight, your majesty?”

Turning her head to face the King, a scheming smirk made its was across her slightly bloodied lips. Without a word, the Queen charged and aimed and fired a blast at the King’s back. It hit, cracking his armor and sending him face-first into the ground once again.

“Does that answer your question, Sir?” She cooed, with the confidence expected of a warrior Queen.

The group surrounded him now, staring down the King as he tried to lift himself up again. He could only manage to bring himself to his knees.

“How shameful to see the proud King of Planet Cereal like this.” the Saiyan Queen derided, hissing the last word through gritted teeth as anger slowly overtook simple scorn.

Gritting his teeth, the King stubbornly stared at the ground, a vain attempt to retain his dignity.

Stepping forward, Tarble spoke, “Call off your troops, your majesty.” He glanced back at the battle behind them; the ground littered with beaten and bloodied Cerealian soldiers, “They’ve been defeated, anyway.”

“We want no more bloodshed between our kingdoms, father!” Cheeri commanded, eyes alight in defiance. “You vowed to protect our people!”

“This would probably be a field of corpses not for our direct orders of mercy.” Granolah mused, sympathy filling his heart as his gaze traveled over the field of his battered people.

None of them had noticed that the Cerealian King had began shaking while they berated him, until he started speaking in a low, nearly snarling, gravel, “Lectured about mercy, by Saiyans?” A bitter chuckle escaped him, soon turning into crazed laughter.

After that, everything happened to fast to even comprehend.

With a cry of, ”I’ll show you mercy!”, The King of Planet Cereal had charged a powerful blast, aimed, and fired it directly at Tarble, piercing through the younger man’s armor and abdomen and sending him flying back, cresting over the hill.

A trio of screams ricocheted across the valley.

Lunging at him in rage and grief, the Saiyan Queen quickly wrapped her arms around the King’s neck and squeezed with all her strength. Digging her knees into his spine and pinning his feet with her own, she leaned back as far as she could.

Struggling and clawing at his opponent’s arms, the King frantically turned his eyes to his daughter, but he quickly noticed that she was much closer than before.

The light scrape of metal against his chest plate was what really alerted him. Glancing down and running his eyes along the length of the blade, he was soon met with the visage of his daughter, Princess Cheeri.

A look of outright contempt mares her face as she ever so slowly dragged the tip of the blade along the center of his chest, right next to his heart.

Next to her stood the knight, Granolah, an equally vengeful look in his eyes.

Cheeri locked eyes with her father as she spoke; every word clear, enunciated, and dripping with venom, “I am going to give you one. Last. Chance, your majesty,” She practically hissed the speech through gritted teeth, “Either you agree to return home, and no more of our people have to die. Or you die in your quest for vengeance.”

The king appeared to weigh his options, even as his face began turning blue from lack of oxygen. He held eye contact with his daughter as a sick smile plastered his face.

“Killing that royal brat was revenge enough, dear.” He cooed.

His last words.

A guttural grief stricken scream, followed by an awful ‘crack,’ silenced him.

His hands stopped struggling, falling to his side limply. Eyes, cold as common stones.

The King of Planet Cereal was dead.

Granolah left Cheeri to mourn her father as he raced down the hill to find Tarble, breathing hurried as he ran.

It seemed that the prince hadn’t fallen that far, as a small group of soldiers, and the two Vegetas, were surrounding him at the bottom of the hill.

Barreling through the crowd to reach the center, the knight dropped to his knees and crawled over to the shaking prince, who was being looked over by another guard.

Evidently, the prince hadn’t fallen managed to move a little out of the way of the dead King’s blast, as the bloodied hole was at the left of his stomach.

Placing his head to Tarble’s chest, Granolah breathed a sigh of relief as a weak, steady beat waved through his ears.

Tarble was alive.

Chapter Text

Impatient tapping bounced along the castle’s stone walls as Granolah leaned against the door to the healing pods.

Soldiers who sustained only minor injuries were being treated outside in tents set up by some local healers. Those who suffered more seriously, however, were being placed in healing tanks; because the liquid inside was a significantly quicker option when needing to fix more severe damage.

Soft footsteps soon mingled with the tapping, temporarily halting the oddly jittery man. Turning his head to look at his new company, the Cerealian knight’s eyes landed upon his people’s princess.

Princess Cheeri walked over to him, a slight hobble to her gait; due to the various light wounds inflicted throughout the battle. Thankfully, he wounds were minor enough that she didn’t need the assistance of the healing pods.

“Princess! Wonderful to see you.” He greeted with a slight bow.

She giggled a little, “After today, I think you can just call me ‘Cheeri,’ my friend.”

Shaking his head, Granolah replied, “Even though I’ve lived on this Planet for about a decade, you’ll always be my princess.” He flashed her a charming grin.

“I was expected to become the Saiyan’s princess, too today.” It was delivered with a knowing laugh, looking down at her tattered wedding dress; blood splattered and the skirt torn off just above the knee, ripped in places along the arms and bodice.

Her smile suddenly turned somber as she asked, “Speaking of royalty, how is Tarble?” Cherri’s voice seemed to get quieter.

Stepping away from the door, he grimaced. “I think he the doctors want to keep him back a little longer, do some tests to really ensure he’s healed up from the pod. But, he’s alive, thank the gods.” That last bit rushed out of his mouth in a whisper, desperation and stress fighting to claw their way out of his chest.

“Oh, wonderful.” A genuine smile graced her lips for the first time that day.

The two fell to a tense silence, both unsure of what to say next. So much had happened in a short frame.

Guilt bubbled inside Granolah as he realized something, “How are you, Cheeri?”

“Oh, I’m doing okay,” She began, inspecting her arms and legs for any injury a healer might’ve missed. “Some minor bleeding and sprains were the worst of my injuries. I was given some gel-“

“No,” Shaking his head, he emphasized, “How are you— emotionally?”

“Oh.”

She fell silent again, as her brows knit together in contemplation.

’I should’ve asked her sooner!’ The knight admonished himself. He’d been soon worried about Tarble that he completely forgotten about anything, or anyone, else.

With a deep breath, she lifted her head, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I… I don’t know.” Cheeri’s voice was strained and weak, sentence breaking as a tears slide down her cheek.

“Your highness!” Rushing forward, Granolah grabbed the princess’s shoulders. She was shaking. “I didn’t mean to offend-“

She shook her head, tears continuing to roll down her face, “Don’t worry! You didn’t, I just…” inhaling once more, much shakier than previous, she continued, “I still can’t quite… believe that he’s really gone.”

”I’m so sorry-“

Turning around, letting go of the princess, Granolah looked over to see who’d just spoken alongside him.

Walking towards them, was Queen Mame Eda.

Stopping in front of the princess, the queen looked into her eyes as she reached for her hands, silently asking if it was okay. The princess nodded.

“I’m so deeply sorry, Princess Cheeri.” Queen Mame Eda began, her voice nothing like it normally was; pleading and almost meek. “I wish it hadn’t come to this. It’s just, after your father attacked my husband— and I thought he’d killled Tarble-“

“I understand, my liege.” Cheeri attempted to force a smile to reassure the queen. It didn’t reach her eyes. “I know why you did it, I just wish my father could’ve been reasoned with.”

“He was, once; used to be a good, kind king.” The queen’s lips twisted into an even deeper frown. “Though, that was long before our… invasion.”

It was surreal to see a Saiyan royal express regret or guilt about a past conquest, Queen Mame Eda especially so.

“I can’t stay for long, as I have to meet with your mother.” The queen explained, “But, if it’s any consolation, I know you’ll lead your people through this with the intelligence and courage that a princess should.”

Cheeri gave her a warm, genuine smile through her glossy gaze and teardrop streaked face. “Thank you, your majesty.”

With that, she pulled away. However, she didn’t leave just yet.

Turning to Granolah, the Queen spoke, “I have to thank you, for everything you’ve done to protect my son.”

“It’s nothing, my liege.” ’You have no idea how far I’d go for him’ He finished mentally.

—

Granolah raced along the stone corridors on his way to Tarble’s room, suddenly impatient to see him. The Saiyan Queen and Cheeri had met him earlier and, according to them, the prince is mostly recovered, if quite sore and tired.

Practically bursting through the door, the knight sighed in relief as he saw his prince sleeping atop the covers, chest rising rhythmically in time with his gentle breaths.

Pushing the door mostly closed, he crept over and leaned over the prince, placing a feather light kiss on his slightly parted lips.

Dark eyes fluttered open, bleary with sleep and slowly adjusting. When he sees Granolah, a bright smile crossed his face. “Granolah!”

“Hello, my love.”

Pulling away a little to let Tarble sit up, they move to let the knight sit on the bed.

“How are you?” He asked, running a hand along the bandages wrapped around the prince’s torso.

“I’m fine, really sore, though.” Tarble grumbles as he stretches his neck. A grin crossed his lips as he cooed, “But I’m much better now that you’re here~”

With a chuckle from Granolah, the two lean in for another kiss.

—

Passing by his brother’s chamber door, Prince Vegeta opened the door ever so slightly to peak in, to see if he was awake.

Ge was met with the unexpected sight of his brother and that Cerealian knight in a passionate lip lock.

Stepping away as quietly as he could, a memory seemed to flash in his mind:

Prince Vegeta and Granolah stared each other down after a fight, breathing heavily for exertion.

“So, was this you asking me to join your mission?” Granolah asked with a sarcastic chuckle, rolling his shoulder around.

With a scoff, Vegeta groused, “Of course not, I just needed to get some last minute trading in, and you were the closest person around.”

Ignoring the slight, the Cerealian asked, “Your brother’s helping you strategize on this one, right?”

“Yes, I’d say he’s a better strategist than most of our enlisted lieutenants.”

“Smart boy.” Granolah commented with a nod, “Quite cute, too.”

That last bit was murmured under his breath, hopping that the older prince wouldn’t hear.

He had, though.

A series of past conversations seemed to pass through his mind; kind words that held another meaning now. Studying looks at his brother that seemed almost longing now.

“Is that why he’s so protective of him? Beyond what’s normal for a guard?”

“How’s your brother?”

Snapping his head over, his gaze landed on his father. Eyes quickly snapping over to the door, Vegeta realigned his eyes to look into his father’s eyes.

“He’s perfectly fine, father.”

Chapter Text

Melodic humming filtered through the halls as Granolah made his way to the royal training room.

It had been about a month since the battle between the Saiyan royal court and Planet Cereal, and much had happened in the interim.

Three days later, Queen Mame Eda made a public announcement regarding the wedding; that Princess Cheeri would not become their newest Princess consort, as their engagement had been fraudulent from the start. This, to be fair, was true, —just not for the reason she thinks.

Two weeks after the fight, Bulma had given birth to a beautiful baby boy named, Trunks; insisted by the Princess consort, relating to a naming convention amongst her family. As Vegeta still wanted to honor his legacy, the newborn was given the title of ‘Vegeta V’ as his middle name.

Just over a week ago, Tarble had to visit Planet Cereal to witness Princess Cherri’s coronation ceremony, and to make a speech regarding their involvement; both ‘romantically’ and the interplanetary conflict. He was also their to give his condolences at the Cerealian King’s funeral, to the surprise of many mourners.

It had been hectic, to severely understate it, as one would expect in the fallout of a major skirmish. Today would be the first time Granolah and Tarble would be reuniting in over a month.

The Cerealian’s pace quicken just a fraction, unable to completely control the eagerness from overtaking him.

After finally reaching the door to the training room, he knocked steadily three times, knuckles bouncing quickly off the wood. In his other hand, hidden behind his back, was an orchid.

“Come in! Came Tarble’s voice inside the room, slightly hoarse and breathless from his strenuous workout. Pushing the door open, the knight played his gaze upon his lover in what felt like far too long.

The prince looked up from where he knelt hunched over on the floor. A wide grin swept across his face when saw his new company. “Granolah!”

A smile broke over Granolah’s face, “Good to have you back at the palace, my prince.” He practically cooed as he reached an arm out to help Tarble get up. Once he was standing, the knight pulled his other arm out from behind himself, presenting the flower to his prince.

Chuckling a little, Tarble pointed out, “You don’t have to keep calling me by my title, Granolah.”

“I know but, in case there’s anyone around…” He trailed off as he watched the prince spinning the purple flower between his fingers gently.

Tarble nodded, “I know.” He murmured, slightly dejected.

Suddenly, he perked up, “Oh, I should tell you, I have a few meetings and duties left undone. So I can’t see you too much today.” He explained as he bounced around the room, putting his armor back on and getting some personal items.

Granolah hummed as his lover talked, hiding his disappointment well.

Before he left, the prince gestured for his knight to lean down, who complied without question. “Meet me in the gardens at dusk tonight.” With a quick peck, the prince stepped through the door and made his way down the corridor.

Standing up, a smirk curled at Granolah’s lips.

’Good things come to those who wait’ He mused internally as his closed the door to the royal training room and walked down the halls to help a lieutenant in training a new batch of soldiers.

—

The sun had just dipped under the horizon as Granolah made his way down the garden’s stone path, the sky a beautiful ombré of black, purple, and deep red.

Tarble stood at the end of the path; where the royal estate ended and lead into an open field of grass. A jittery, almost nervous energy surrounded him, causing him to bounce on the balls of his feet.

Reaching his lover, the knight tried a reassuring smile, hoping it would comfort his lover. “Tarble! You wished to see me?”

Whipping his head around, the knight’s meet presence seemed to calm the excitable man. “Granolah! Yes, I wanted to discuss a couple things but… only when we could be alone.” Turning to fully face the knight, Tarble gave him a lavender plant.

“Alright, what did you want to discuss.?” Granolah asked, covering the slight hint of worry in his tone by taking Tarble’s hand.

Taking a deep breath, Tarble locked eyes with his lover. His voice was more serious than Granolah had ever heard, “Ever since we met, I’ve been drawn to you in a way I never knew I could.”

This genuine words shocked the knight, as warmth began to fill his chest, migrating up his neck and face.

The prince continued, “You’re inarguably the person I am closest to in this life, I’ve confided things in secrets in you that I would trust to no one else, and shown you sides of me exclusive to you.” The prince’s face began to heat up, tastefully veiled by the encroaching darkness of night.

“I-I could never imagine losing you, as a friend or a lover,” His voice wavered as a mist shielded his dark eyes. “I known there will be risks-“

Cupping his lover’s jaw and tilting Tarble’s head back to lock eyes, Granolah leaned down to whisper against the prince’s lips, “If it’s for you, I’ll gladly take any risk.” He leaned in fully to connect their mouths in a passionate kiss.

He felt Tarble practically melt into the kiss, body going slack as Granolah wrapped his arm around the prince’s waist.

Pulling away far too soon, Tarble swallowed. “There’s something else I wanted to show you.”

That’s when the knight noticed that, his lover’s tail wasn’t wrapped around his waist like normal, instead swaying behind him.

“Your Oozaru form…” He’d never seen the prince transformed; few people ever had.

Nodding, the prince turned around to completely face the full moon.

Transformation began rapidly, will the prince hunching over as growls as his body began growing taller and wider. Fur bloomed across his body, and Granolah could see from behind that his face was elongating into an ape-like muzzle. The sound of fabric tearing ghosted through the darkness, as the tattered remains of Tarble’s gloves revealed large, clawed monkey hands.

Gazing upon his lover’s form, whose red eyes now bore down upon him, he couldn’t hold back a gasp.

It was overwhelming, it was fascinating, it was…

“Beautiful.”

Leaning down, Tarble held out his hand, palm up. Granolah was confused for a second, until he realized.

Steeping onto the palm, he was lifted into the air at an, honestly alarming, rate as the prince stood to his full transformed height. Then, he started gently swaying.

A chuckle passed the knight’s lips when he realized that the prince wanted to dance. Raising his arms in a practiced position, he started dancing the waltz.

Beneath the glow of the moon, unbeknownst to everyone else in the kingdom, the prince and his knight waltzed together.