The Small Print's Limitations

Chapter Twenty-One

In all of Razoul's fifty-six years of life, he could never have imagined this.

An unmarried woman on the throne.

He watched from a veiled doorway as the Princess Aziza sat on her father' throne, her waves of hair collected into a high pony tail and her long, crossed legs enclosed in transparent violet fabric. Her manicured fingers rested on the armrest, tapping in time to their own beat, and Razoul could only snarl from a distant.

What on earth had been running through his boss' head?

He and Jasmine had left several hours earlier, for an undisclosed location, for 'a few days' – though a few days could mean anything from actually a few days, to many months, as Jafar seemed to have a tendency to lose track of time while he was away. The palace occupants had been surprised that they were leaving, as it had been less than two weeks since the attack on Jasmine and let alone her pregnancy – she moved with the uneasiness of a recovering patient; her footsteps slow and her face lost in internal thought, for the floor seemed more interesting than anyone else around her, including her husband; it was if she didn't even want to go.

But all of that in itself wasn't so bad, even if it was a little odd. No, was what not understandable was Jafar's choosing in who could look after Agrabah while he was gone – with both him and Jasmine gone, and with the death of Jasmine's father, there was no one in the family line as far as Razoul was concerned that could take over the throne for even a short period of time. The prince was far too young, the princess was a woman, and Aladdin... the idea of Jafar giving Aladdin the throne was hilarious.

So Razoul – the head of the guards, employed by Jafar for almost as long as he himself had been vizier, the trusted advisory – had fully expected to be selected to look after Agrabah.

And what had the boss gone ahead and done? Selected his daughter.

"You can't be serious about this," Razoul had quietly questioned Jafar after the surprise announcement, doing his best to keep the anger out of his voice. "She's sixteen and a woman – "

"Are you questioning my decision?" came the calm, but threatening, response.

"Of course not," Razoul lied. "But this is a travesty to all who rule! You're asking for trouble from the citizens – "

"Razoul!" Jafar had cut him off, rounding on his heel to face his guard. "I trust my daughter to be able to look after this city for a few days without an uprising! I also trust that you will be as faithful and respectful to her as you usually are to me... I don't have to banish you from Agrabah while I am away, do I?"

For a moment, the two men of same age stared at each other, before Razoul glanced away, continuing to hold his head high, and Jafar took this as positive confirmation, and left the room. But Razoul clenched his jaw as soon as his majesty had left – the man was losing his mind, he was sure of that.

Razoul had always deemed him slightly strange, as everyone had – as younger men the guards would invite Jafar out with them to the trips to the city's ladies for 'pleasure', but he had always declined, much preferring to remain in his high tower with Iago; for reasons which Razoul and the guards could not understand. Of course, their murmuring about their boss and his strange lack of desire for women had been squashed with his marriage to a sixteen year old, and to the Princess Jasmine, no less.

But then he'd started doing things that had Razoul continue to mentally question him.

Like how he'd demanded no retaliation from the citizens over the birth of a princess – a daughter was all well and good, but at the end of the day, the princess was female, and therefore, useless. It wasn't right for a ruler to so out-spoken against what the men of the city believed, and Razoul believed that Jafar should count himself lucky that the citizens were too afraid of him to stand up and argue, let alone 'disappear' particular citizens for having the right beliefs. And now that that daughter in question was nearing her seventeenth birthday, Jafar's lack of action towards the Princess was concerning – it was all well and good for the Princess to get married, for Razoul believed she should've been married off the moment she reached Arabian sand, but to the street rat? There were many princes out across the land who would be willing to teach the Princess a thing or two on how a woman ought to behave, as they had been willing to teach her mother, but Razoul knew that the street rat would try to do no such thing – what were these men of Agrabah coming to?

Not to mention the fact that Jafar had stolen Leila away from him.

Razoul's blood boiled at this idea. Jafar had had no right to step into his personal affairs – it was one thing for the stupid woman to run away; it was quite another for the palace to hide her (for he was sure this was where she had gone). He was certain that Jafar had at least had a hand in helping her disappearance – though when it came to someone trying to murder his own wife, he hadn't even bothered to try and find the culprit.

Nothing added up about him.

And now he looked at Aziza, looking as self-involved and conceited as her father, and he smirked at just the idea – if Jafar had taken his wife, then he deserved another, or at least, take Aziza for himself. It would be satisfying to drop a shamed and touched Aziza back at her father's feet, knock both of them down a peg or two... if it wasn't for the fact he would most likely be immediately executed.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Aziza was now staring back at him, wondering why he had spent such a long time standing in one spot. Razoul felt his face colour at being caught staring at her, but his embarrassment turn into a glare as she smirked at him, and he watched her leave the opposite end of the room with her ponytail swinging, and a slight sway to her hips.

She knew he had wanted the top spot, and that he was angry that he hadn't been given it.

And he knew he wouldn't try anything, and she knew it.

Something about the trip felt wrong.

Something had felt wrong about the ride on the horse out to this new city – Jafar was insistent that she ride with him, to keep her and the baby safe from harm. Something had felt wrong about the apartment they'd entered – a floor and walls of cream, small tables scattered around holding candles. Something had felt wrong about the sight of the city beyond the window; it was as if she'd visited it before, as if she recognised it, but she had no idea from where.

Puzzled she was by this, Jasmine had asked Jafar if they had been here before – if they really had been here, or if she was losing her mind. He responded in the negative, which did nothing to ease her confusion, and then he'd drawn her into the bed, suggesting that perhaps the stress she was under was causing problems to her thinking ability.

But now, within the most unstressful activity of them all, the confusion only grew worse.

She rode him, trying to convey an expression that seemed like she was into it, but in reality, Jasmine's thoughts could not be further from what was happening. Allowing her body to follow through with the motions, move her hips into the right places, she wandered off mentally, biting her lip against the thoughts. Moving into this bed, making love to her husband... it all felt wrong, in this place.

She didn't want to feel this way, so disconnected from what they were doing. But she felt as if she needed answers to be able to...

"Are you alright?"

Jasmine glanced down at Jafar, who stared back up at her, with an eyebrow raised. It took a moment, but she realised that her hips had stopped moving. She looked away from him, releasing her lip from her teeth, and stared at a spot on the bed. "My stomach hurts," she mumbled her lie, moving one hand over her stomach, both the scar and the baby, as if to protect it.

Jafar sighed but pulled himself upwards, settling her back onto his lap. "You stupid woman, you should've said something," he scolded, before capturing her lips under his own, his tongue snaking its way into her mouth.

For several long seconds, she found herself lost within him – she moaned under his kisses as he rolled her over onto her back, while he held himself up onto his elbows in order not to crush her. Jasmine's foot slowly ran its way up the back of his leg, eventually hooking her knee around his hip, and she heard her own name groaned as Jafar pressed his mouth against her neck, amongst the pillow of her hair, his fists clenching in it.

And slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, gazing through the flickering candlelight at the lights of the unknown city outside of the window.

Suddenly, every touch of his skin against hers intensified.

The scream in her head rang with such howling that Jasmine suddenly wrenched her head back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed tight against the sound and her tears. The pain within her blew out from a white hot point deep within her, far worse than the first time that she remembered him taking her by force... the hypnotism she'd been under was clearing and where she was now was becoming more obvious; no, the pain she felt now was the memory of the first time, period. How her wrists had been forced against the mattress, how she'd been forced to do things that she was horrified at now, now that it all came crashing back. She'd never had a chance to say no because she had had no control over her mind, or what she wanted to think.

And it was all his fault.

Jasmine opened her eyes, her breathing unsteady and wild, and she barely made out Jafar's voice around her, though the ringing in her ears. "... wrong?" was all she could hear of his question.

There was a beat of silence as her world slid back into place.

"Get off of me!" she fairly screamed, and obediently, he scrambled off her, his eyes a mix of confusion and anger. Quickly, she drew a sheet around her body, wanting some sort of protection from him. "You lied to me! We have been here before!"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped back, feeling the anger take hold of him and burying deep any concern for her.

"I'm not stupid!" Jasmine continued to scream at him, unable to keep a grasp on her emotions, the tears freely falling from her eyes. "You took me here after the wedding, you kept me hypnotised so that you... so that you could..." As she trailed off, her voice began to grow hoarse, her eyes wildly searching over his face for some sort of comfort.

And finding none.

"Alright, fine, Jasmine!" Jafar shouted back at her, his suddenly loud tone of voice quieting her into submission, as he got off the bed and pulled on black silk pants. He rounded on her then, and her eyes flew open. "Yes, we came here after the wedding, how on earth was I supposed to know that you'd remember that, you haven't remembered it in eighteen years!" His voice dipped into sarcasm, "I'm so sorry that I lied, something people believe I do on a regular basis!"

"That's no excuse!" came back the tearful response, as she knelt up on the mattress, attempting to become eye-to-eye, "It doesn't matter if I never remembered it! Why did you keep me hypnotised, why didn't you give me a choice?"

"A choice?" he spat out, an almost hysterical laugh in his throat. He knew the words were coming, he knew he shouldn't say them, but in the emotional sandstorm that they'd both been caught up in, he was powerless to stop them. "You made your choice – you decided to marry me, I didn't force you to do it! And don't pretend to play dumb with me, girl – you know damn well that when you married me, your life was in my hands; do you think I would've cared back then if you weren't hypnotised and you said no to consummation?" His faced darkened and his tone became a hiss, "I would've raped you anyway, and I would've enjoyed it!"

He was immediately slapped across the face.

And he knew he deserved it.

Jasmine swallowed hard, trying not to let his words to get to her, as she suddenly looked at his hand, almost too ashamed to look up at his face. She'd only ever hit him twice, once in self-defence, and once now, and like before, she seemed half-amazed, half-horrified that she'd actually done it.

She felt his shadow hover over her, before his hands clamped down around her forearms – she tried to yank herself away from him, but he held her tighter, until she finally forced herself to look at him. The red handprint was creeping its way over his cheek, and his dark eyes were narrowed, but the anger was beginning to cool within them. "I'm not going to apologise for something I didn't do – "

"You've never apologised for anything you have done."

"Jasmine."

He cleared his throat.

"But I didn't expect you'd remember something under hypnotism; on that, I assumed it would be easier on you if you were hypnotised... considering, if I remember correctly, you hated me?"

Jasmine looked away, drawing her knees up to her chest protectively. Very slowly, Jafar moved one hand to press it lightly against the side of her head, and despite herself, she moved into his hand, and slid her eyes shut as his thumb ran over them, moving away her tears. "Things haven't been right between us since... since I attacked you. I know what happened is entirely my fault. But if things are going to get better then I need you to forgive me, and tell me what I can do to help you."

"I forgive you," she said quietly, but both knew that she merely spoke the words, not meaning them.

"No, you don't," he argued, "otherwise things wouldn't be this way now. Jasmine," she looked up at him, "tell me what is wrong. Or tell me what I can do."

She swallowed, suddenly feeling tired, and not willing to have his talk with him. With the thoughts of leaving dancing in her head lately, she was afraid that she was going to come out and say something she didn't mean, just as he had. "I don't know," she sighed, before crawling up the bed and under the sheet she'd wrapped herself in, her back towards him as she rolled over and hugged a pillow, her eyes closing.

Jafar stared at his wife, waiting for her to speak, but instead, he wound up watching her until she fell asleep. Sighing heavily, he blew out the candles, and slipped into bed beside her, his eyes on the ceiling.

In the darkness, he prayed.

TBC

A/N: Thanks Lilies, Eriks and Endless for the reviews on the last chapter, and the many other lurkers and followers who read it as well – it's always rewarding to see people reading it, even if too long a time has gone by between chapters. I know it's not the best thing in the world to set a deadline – I've always believed in waiting for a quality chapter rather than rushing it, especially towards the end – but otherwise it'll take far too long to finish it; admittedly, most of this chapter was written during my working day. That said, the plot is finally falling into place for me now, so all that has to be done is write it...