The Small Print's Limitations


Chapter Nine

Nervously, Aziza twisted her fingers in her lap, her gaze steady on her closed bedroom door, as she waited.

She'd asked to speak with her mother tonight, the only person she could trust with her burden, the only person who might be able to understand. Her brother could not possibly understand, and her father... well, he'd made his feelings rather clear on the subject at the funeral the previous day.

She felt her blood begin to boil in the heat, her cheeks darkening with embarrassment. She was sixteen now, she was a woman who could make up her own mind and choose what she wanted, and how dare he just waltz in, after years of being away, and tell her who she could see and how she ought to behave. Aziza wasn't sure what his problem was, and she most definitely wasn't about to ask him, if he was just furious with the man for some absurd reason, or if the idea of any other man at all in Aziza's life frustrated him.

Well, sorry, Daddy, Aziza thought cruelly, but I'm all grown up now.

And yet, when she stood as the door between her parents' chambers and hers opened, she could not explain as to why her legs appeared to struggle in holding her upright.

Jasmine frowned as she walked into Aziza's room, at the pained look on her daughter's face. Aziza's behaviour had hopelessly confused her at the evening meal, which had been Jasmine's one and only meal of the day – it had taken some time to sleep off the disturbing hypnosis, and she only had vague memories of the funeral. But she couldn't understand the sheer, open hostility that Aziza had shown towards Jafar, or the way Jafar seemed to become more agitated with each cold look or snap comment that Aziza made towards him, ending with her husband stalking from the room, a mutter under his breath about how ridiculous the situation was.

Let alone Aziza's desperate plea to speak with her before bed, and now with curiosity she met her daughter, surprised by the sudden fear in Aziza's eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Jasmine asked slowly, sitting down amongst pillows, her red silk nightgown gathered around her body.

Aziza looked down at her mother, her brown eyes wide with concern, her dark hair flowing around her face. Having her father back had made Jasmine look as young and carefree as she had when Aziza was a child, even with the Sultan's death. And she could only hope that her mother would take the news more easily that she could only imagine her father would.

"Mother..." Aziza began slowly, making herself comfortable besides her, "I've moved on from Frederick."

Instantly Jasmine's face relaxed, as she smiled. "Oh, good."

"I've met someone else."

Aziza couldn't miss the fading of Jasmine's smile.

"What, here in Agrabah?"

Aziza couldn't find her voice, her eyes darting from her mother and down to her lap, beginning to twist her fingers together again.

"Aziza, you've only been here for a matter of days, and only in the palace. Who could you have possibly met in that time?"

There were several moments of silence as a blush began to cross Aziza's face, and she could still not look up at her mother, as she found her voice to be no higher than a whisper. "It's Aladdin," she murmured, closing her eyes against her shyness.

"... I see," she heard her mother reply, her voice just as quiet as her own. "Aziza, I don't think it's such a good idea..."

Aziza raised her head as her mother's small protest, her eyes darkening as she studied her. Her mother looked more nervous about it than angry – she could tell the way Jasmine pulled her lip under her teeth – but her reaction had made her realise that it wasn't the fact that Aziza liked someone that annoyed her father; it Aladdin himself.

And clearly, her mother was none too impressed either.

"It's not like I'm not happy for you," Jasmine explained gently, but Aziza could still hear the disapproval in her voice. "But I don't think Aladdin is a good idea..."

Jasmine trailed off, as she wondered what reasons she could give to Aziza as to why she shouldn't pursue Aladdin that weren't for her daughter's knowledge, or that were completely hypocritical. Aziza had no clue as to the role Aladdin had played in the strange love triangle that had happened when she was Aziza's age; all she had told the children was that she had been pushed into marriage with Jafar, which was true. And she couldn't use an excuse such as Aladdin being too old for her; the age gap between Aziza and Aladdin was smaller than it was technically between herself and Jafar, if only by two years.

And then Aziza sighed, and muttered a line that nearly caused Jasmine's jaw to drop. "Father didn't think so, either."

"You told your father? About Aladdin?" Jasmine questioned, unable to keep the shock out of her voice. She could only imagine how badly that conversation could've gone, and was faintly surprised to see that Aziza was still here to tell the tale. At least, it would explain the silent fury between the pair at dinner.

"Not exactly," Aziza admitted. "He saw me staring at him during the funeral; I think he might've guessed that I love Aladdin..."

"Aziza, you do not love him!" Jasmine snapped, her voice more frustrated than she hoped it would sound. "You're infatuated with him. You're sixteen; you've not loved any man before. It took me over a year after marriage to love your father."

"I get the point, Mother," Aziza mumbled, her cheeks flaming under her mother's fair accusations. But then she raised her eyes to face Jasmine, and both sighed as they looked at each other, at both their separate memories of Aladdin. "Mother... please, don't tell Father. He'll kill me."

"I wish I could say that that was an exaggeration," Jasmine murmured, but that's not what she seemed uncomfortable over. "Aziza, I don't know if I can... and he has a way of finding out these sorts of things..."

"Mother, I need you to help me."

"It might just be easier to tell him now, it'll be less ugly than if he finds out later..."

It was more of a choice between severe pain, and death. For both her daughter and Aladdin.

But Aziza looked so lost, and the mother in Jasmine was winning out. It wouldn't hurt too much to keep it from Jafar for a little while, until at least Aziza came to her senses. And hopefully that would be soon, so Jafar wouldn't ever need to know. Quietly, and to Aziza's surprise, Jasmine leaned forward and kissed her sweet daughter on the cheek, with a sad smile on her lips. "I won't tell him, for now. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Not looking back, Jasmine walked quickly through Aziza's room, into her own and shut the door tightly behind her, thankful that the bedroom was in darkness, so her facial expressions couldn't give her away.

"What did she want?" came his drawled voice from the direction of a small couch, a tone that despite the small sense of fear that Jasmine felt in keeping such a secret from her husband, still managed to admit a thrilling shiver that ran down her spine.

She watched Jafar carefully as she walked towards him, the marble cool under her feet. He was still fully dressed in comparison to her small robe, and he studied her with a small frown on his lips, the small amount of light from the moon and stars outside highlighting half his face, and keeping the other half in the dark.

And with even keeping eye contact, Jasmine realised that she could lie to him, to save her daughter. "She apologies for her behaviour at dinner, towards you," she replied, running her hand along the back and side of the couch as she went to sit beside him, tucking her legs under herself.

"Hmm..." he murmured, unsure if he believed her. He rather doubted that Aziza would ever apologise for liking that street urchin.

"Forgive her already," Jasmine sighed, mistaking his meaning, and rested her head lightly against his shoulder. Watching the midnight sky through the lightly fluttering curtains, she rolled her eyes mentally at the slight tensing of his arm, against her touch. "She's just a teenager; you remember how I was at sixteen."

"Do I ever," he replied, with a faint purr in his voice, as he studied his wife, from her black hair waving around her shoulders, to the slight gap between her skin and the bust of the robe, down to the tie that held the silk together around her body.

Despite her disturbed mood, Jasmine allowed herself to smile. "Not now," she warned, and carefully, allowing him plenty of time to draw back if he wanted, she held his finger and pulled his arm around her shoulders, entwining her small fingers between his long and slender ones, as they watched the heavy darkness.

Jafar never let her hand go; if anything, she could've sworn he held her closer.


Leila felt as if she was walking towards her death, again.

She didn't think time could feel longer, but it had. It felt as if it had been an eternity since Jafar had left, and that was an especially long time in a place that didn't count days, months or years. For ten human years he had been beside her, in this empty space, keeping her company. And now, he was gone, back to his wife and Queen.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

She could've told him that Jasmine could deal with things on her own, agreed with him that yes, Jasmine was a big girl who had to learn to cope on her own. But no. She'd told him that Jasmine needed him as much as he needed her, and that he needed to be by her side. And so, she'd cursed herself when she was sadly surprised to see him gone.

She had ten human years to tell Jafar that she still loved him; at least, she loved the small part of him that was still there, from when she had been his wife, when they had been teenagers themselves and married – him just of seventeen, and her, only fourteen. Even Iago had casually mentioned that she should say something, as it was obvious from the way she looked at the sorcerer with her blood-filled eyes. But look at her; a mess of dirt, blood and ripped clothes; and him, perfection.

Pity about his personality.

Iago, for one, had become more and more concerned for Leila – her tears were continually flowing now, staining her skin crimson, and she seemed lost since Jafar had left. Becoming more and more withdrawn into herself, Iago was sure that if she wasn't already dead, she would be tempted to attempt suicide.

And so, he had whispered in the ears of the masters, and Leila was now about to meet with them, on their special request.

"Leila," they called gently, and she looked up at them, her eyes blinded in red. "Do you miss him?"

She slowly nodded.

"We could let you return."

Her eyes widened at the hopeful suggestion, and beside her, she could sense Iago's surprise. "You'd... you'd let me go back?"

"Of course, if it would make you happy."

For the first time in a long, Leila felt a nearly tooth-less smile take over her dirty face, but it began to fade as she took in the masters' plan. "Naturally, we can't just drop you into the palace... you will become another wife to a man who has close ties to him, and you will need to find your own path to Jafar."

"What if I want to come back?"

"Then you may do so at any time. But we won't let you go back to Earth again. Think about it wisely before coming back."

Leila frowned at the words, but then, she shut her eyes and nodded slightly.

Before Iago's eyes, she faded from view, until there was nothing left but a bloody puddle where she had stood.

For several moments, there was silence.

"What have we done?" one master questioned. "We know that he's dedicated to his new wife."

"Then maybe Leila needs to see it to understand."

TBC


A/N: And my hiatus on this story ends (finally), apologies to everyone for the delay, but real life and trying to plot this sequel out rather takes away from time spent actually writing it. Hope you all enjoy, despite my sporadic updates!