“I know.”
“Does that make me weak?” She betrayed me. I should be ready to go after her with everything I can bring to the fore. Instead, I’m just tired. There are plenty of fights left in my future. If I can let this go…
I will. Not today. But eventually.
I lift my face and kiss Jafar. “Thank you.”
“I’ll always give you what you need, baby girl. Always.”This short originally appeared as the July 2019 short for my Patreon. Each month, patrons nominate their favorite couples and characters, vote on one, and I write a brand new short featuring the winner. For more bonus stories, please consider joining my Patreon.2Jasmine’s Winter SolsticeJasmineI never imagined I’d love the politics that go with running my own territory. The power? Yes, of course I want that. I’ve had a taste, and I’ll never go back to being the girl who was more pawn than human.
But there’s something about communicating in dual meanings that appeals to me. A statement that seems benign, but holds a multitude of threats beneath the surface. A compliment that’s actually anything but. I thrive in this constant battle with words and edged smiles and body language.
Tonight is one such occasion.
I look around the ballroom. My generals and their partners mingle with Jafar’s men. Even after nearly a year, the tension is thick enough to drown in. They don’t trust each other, and I haven’t bothered to change that. More than half of these people supported Jafar’s coup against my father. They are not my friends, and they are not to be trusted. They are, however, incredibly useful now that I’ve unlocked the key.
Still, after hours of this song and dance, weariness weighs me down. I want eight hours of sleep, a bath, and Jafar; not necessarily in that order.
As if my thoughts summon the man himself, he emerges from a cluster of men in suits and stalks in my direction. I let myself look my fill. He’s putting on this show for me, after all. And it’s quite the show, even if it might not appear to be from the outside. Even after months and months together, this man still takes my breath away. He wears a charcoal suit with a dark purple shirt that sets off his medium-brown skin to perfection. Each movement is full of promise of things to come. A promise echoed in his dark eyes.
He reaches me and turns easily to take up his position at my right shoulder, nearly close enough to touch. His low voice reaches me easily despite the relative din of conversation filling the room. “You’ve done well.”
The praise warms me, but I keep my expression cool. “I know.”
A small smile touches his lips. “Meet me in the gazebo in an hour. This lot will have cleared out by then.”
That’s an ambitious timeline. It’s barely eleven, and the last time I threw a party like this, nearly every person stayed until the sun rose the next day. Not all of them were conscious at that point, but they were bodily present. “You may be waiting in the gazebo a long time.”
He just smiles and walks away. His smugness is irritating in the extreme, as is his ability to move freely around during these events. I’m stuck in what’s essentially a throne, surveying my kingdom. Most of the time I enjoy these little power plays, the way I can use my position within a room to illustrate that I’m the one to answer to.
Not tonight.
Tonight, my exhaustion goes bone deep.
It would be an unforgivable reach to call my late father a sentimental man. He barely made time to be my jailer, let alone an actual father. I hated him as much as I loved him—more, even. But, every winter solstice, we would walk the gardens together. First the greenhouses, then the ones outside that went dormant with the turning of the year. A way of remembering my mother, though sometimes I wonder if my memories are true or just figments of my yearning for something else.
I never thought to miss him. I certainly never considered that his loss would compound my lack of mother. Grief works in strange ways, I suppose. My father was a terrible man. He locked me in a cage, had fully intended to barter me for his own personal gain, neglected and abused me in turn. I hate that I miss him at times. Just a little, a flicker of loss in an otherwise wonderful life.
Tonight, on the winter solstice, the flicker is stronger than it’s ever been.
The exodus to the entrance starts so slowly, I barely notice it at first. But as my generals approach me, one by one, to say their goodbyes, and I realize Jafar must be responsible for this. My chest warms the tiniest bit. He and I haven’t spoken about what this time of year means to me, but obviously he sensed my disquiet as the day approached.