Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. And, I warn you--when finished with this chapter, you might have an urge to slap something. -grin-

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Kalasin thinks that having Kalahari is startlingly similar to the little baby dolls she used to have when she was young, except this baby is real. But other than that, there are no real differences.

She has a child who she can cuddle and kiss, whose small features she can trace with a finger and realize with pride that their noses are exactly alike. A child who looks at her and gurgles happily with recognition, at the end of a long day.

A child who she can tuck away when she's finished with coddling it. She doesn't have to deal with Kalahari's spitting up, or her sleepless nights, or her colds or irritability or the weeks when she lies in her crib and gasps for breath and the Healers have to medicate her for days at a time-

Her things migrate to Kaddar's room after a while, and soon his bed becomes theirs, and the scent of her hair lingers on the pillows. She isn't sure how this happened, but she isn't sure whether she dislikes it or not.

They have a routine at nights--after dinner; they visit Kalahari in the nursery, spend some time with her, return to their rooms, and sleep.

This works for a few months, before she takes a day off, claiming a headache. Kaddar returns to their room to find her sprawled across the bed, an empty wine bottle and upturned glass across from her. Her head is buried in his pillow, and as he sits down next to her and lifts her head up, depositing it in his lap, he is startled to see that her cheeks are damp with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently, because he knows better than anyone that she is volatile while drunk.

Kalasin hiccups, "I'm--I'm--I'm a bad mother!"

Kaddar hadn't expected that, of all things. "Shh, you're not a bad mother at all--" Secretly, he thinks that she's too young to be a proper mother, but refrains from mentioning that. "Talk to me?"

The empress sobs out everything that's been troubling her over the past few months; he is silent for a while, stroking her forehead. "Am I the person you really should be talking to about this?" he mumbles, at last. "I mean, I'm not a woman, I wouldn't know--"

"This is your child, too," she points out sharply.

Kaddar sighs, thinking it over. "What do you want to do? Instead of holding her in the nursery, do you want to bring her over here in your old room, like before? Of course, it would be a complete breach of propriety," he muses to himself. Shaking his head, Kaddar dismisses the idea. "Never mind. It's ridiculous."

He hits a nerve, though, and she sits up quickly. "That's a wonderful idea."

"It's a complete breach of propriety," he explains again, patiently.

"So?" She shrugs, excitement sobering her quite a bit. "She's my only child."

"For now," counters Kaddar. "There's no need to coddle her so."

"She's sickly."

"Aren't all babies sickly, at first? Besides, we'll have more soon--"

Kalasin looks up at him with narrowed eyes. "We're…having more…soon?"

"Well, of course."

"You say it as if it should be so obvious," she murmurs, her hands going to her stomach instinctively. "Why?"

Kaddar chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. "I've ruled this country almost nine years without an heir. It's unstable."

"We have Kalahari now." Kalasin isn't cuddled against him any more; rather, they face each other from opposite sides of the bed, glaring.

"She's a girl," he says, bluntly. "I love her, but she's only a girl, and nothing can change that."

The empress rises before she realizes it and stands in front of him. Kalasin is vaguely aware that her fists are clenched and she feels a bit lightheaded, but she ignores the feeling of dizziness. "Only a girl?" she hisses. "You're calling your firstborn child worthless because of her gender?"

"Kalasin, be reasonable--"

Kalasin slaps him across the face with all the strength she can muster. "I can't believe you, you sexist slime-" and she draws her hand back for another slap.

Before she can act on it, one of Kaddar's hands snap out, grabbing her wrist hard. He takes advantage of her wide-eyed amazement to fling the hand back down. "Don't speak of things you don't understand," he hisses, before storming away from her, slamming the door behind him.

Kalasin sits down on the bed numbly, rubbing her wrists.

Before Zaimid escorts a rather drunk Kaddar back to the imperial suite at nine that night, she has already moved all of her things out of his room and locked the adjoining door firmly.

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Told you.