Title: Hide your face so the world will never find you (Part 4)
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Kahlan/Darken Rahl
Summary: Parenthood and politics complicate war.
Warning/Notes: See Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
Now that he had his Confessor heir, Darken realized a flaw in his plan. Kahlan had not hated him when he came to her bed only once a month; she understood the necessities of continuing a line. But now, he would have to forego such marital intimacy, lest he turn her unsettled opinion to bitterness and hatred again. It was not a flaw so much as a frustration. He always had the Mord'Sith to tend to his needs, and his imagination if he wanted to indulge in picturing his goal—a Kahlan who came willingly to his arms, eyes alight with desire.
But nothing was quite satisfying in that way anymore. He found his hands twitching frequently, and wondered if maybe they'd been clean for too long. From the civilization of the Council Chambers, he descended to the dark of the Mord'Sith temple. Mistress Ellys bowed and offered him her place with a smirk. The agiel pulsed with his own magic, the pain blooming from his hand to the rest of his body. He smiled, both chill and warm, and set to training new recruits to the sisterhood of agiels.
His hands were bloody by the end, and he could almost taste the metallic tang in the air. But even after he'd cleaned up, wiped the sweat from his brow and changed into unstained robes, the primary emotion was not peace. It never was anymore.
He relished when he could leave himself behind and play the doting father. Arianna was a baby like any other, so he was told, fussy and affectionate in turn, making strange noises and sleeping at strange hours. Darken had never held a child before her, though, and found it endearing the way she turned her head towards his chest and snuggled when he spoke in a low soft voice. This wasn't so hard, whether Kahlan watched him or not. He thought he could not disdain his own father even further, but he did. How could any man be cruel or careless to such a life as this?
Mostly, of course, he gave his daughter attention for Kahlan's viewing. They were a family, and never more so than now. She watched him with hawk-eyes every time he came into the nursery and lifted Arianna from her cradle, murmuring words of promise. She would be the first Rahl to be born in a united empire, and he would raise her to rule well. The Council would have preferred a boychild, of course, as tradition dictated—Darken had no intention of daring to raise a male Confessor, though, and saw no reason why gender should change the fact that his child would be a true Rahl.
"You are the symbol of two nations," he told the blinking infant in his arms. "Through blood, raising, and ruling. Your name and mine will be the first of a new dynasty, an age of light for the world."
If Kahlan had any thoughts other than confusion as she watched and listened, Darken did not notice. Arianna reached for his finger when he stroked her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin, and he did not object when she pulled it to her mouth and started to suckle. It was almost amusing...almost, because he could not deny the odd sensation in his chest that he had yet to name. Perhaps this is what family always did to people. Perhaps this was what he'd always been missing, and there was no name for it only because people took it for granted.
"She is doing well," he said to Kahlan after laying the babe back in her cradle.
"She's strong," murmured Kahlan, chewing the inside of her lip.
"Is there a problem?"
His wife glanced up at him, then slightly to the left, as usual. "No, my lord." Her lips pursed, and she rose to depart the nursery, as if needing time to think over things. "I'm sure she will be grateful to have a father who makes sure that she is well."
So much was left unspoken, always. Darken considered that perhaps he was moving too fast, and she could not handle the change. Yet the infant was strange and new and fascinating, and how could he be a father if he was not moved to interest or care?
*
Kahlan missed the grooved hilt of her daggers pressing into her palms, the cool metal glinting in the sunlight, the clean noise of blade slicing through air followed by the wet sound of drawing blood from enemy flesh. Oh how her hands ached for something to do other than embroidery, her mind yearning for the simplicity of combat.
The desire was stupid. Peace was good, and the very result of her combat. Just because she'd never been taught how to live with it didn't mean that she had to give in to this childish instinct for familiarity. The legacy of the Confessors instructed her to adapt; her duty as Mother Confessor demanded it. Even if only for long enough to bring Richard back to her.
Sometimes she couldn't picture Richard's face, though. Sometimes when she remembered his name, she only connected it with being a girl. A young girl in love. Maybe if she could fight again, the adrenaline rush would trigger memories of the passion that gripped her heart every time she saw her beloved Richard. But in this life, nothing was that easy or emotional. Richard lived in the same past where war resided, far out of reach. And this nightmare was not quite terrifying enough.
Once Arianna was a few months old, Kahlan retook her honorary position as Mother Confessor. Darken had stripped her of all national power, of course, when taking the freedom from the people, but he'd not been foolish enough to deprive the people of their justice system. And for all that Kahlan wanted his plans to fail, she couldn't bear the idea of causing chaos.
So she held court, listening to petitioners and solving their disputes, a Confessor's smile on her face as always. Darken Rahl's queen was no mere trinket hanging on his arm, she made sure of that.
The man was deliberately making it hard for him to hate her, she would swear. It had been over a year since he'd summoned her to his bed for more than sleep, and she had to admit that her relief was tinged with suspicion. Why had he married her? Was it merely to bear an heir and keep the Midlands content?
On the days when she returned from the Council to find him in the nursery, murmuring grave but affectionate words to their daughter, her heart always leaped in fear first—the right reaction. This man had slaughtered thousands, and it was her tiny fragile daughter in his murderous hands. Always, she stood at the door, hands clenched at her side, forcing herself not to order him to put the baby down. She would tell herself reluctantly that he'd always shown a kind of affection to the child...perhaps even tyrants could not resist the calming affect of innocence.
"Kahlan," Darken once murmured, as he always did when noticing her presence.
"My lord," she said back, voice tight as she wished yet again that her beloved daughter could have any father but him.
He took a few steps to her side, offering the cooing infant to her. "She has missed you this morning."
How could you tell? Kahlan wanted to snap. But instead she just cradled her daughter and nodded. Whatever phenomenon produced this gentleness in her demon of a husband, she didn't truly want to change it. Their child needed to survive, for everyone's sake.
But bewilderment struck when he met her eyes, and his own had a deep warmth that seemed incompatible with the Rahl intensity of his being. "You two are so beautiful together."
She would have flinched if she'd sensed any mocking or trickery. She didn't. And when he walked past her out of the nursery, she shuddered. The more she learned of him, the more everything disturbed her. Kahlan loved the nature of truth, but she was starting to discover that she preferred the kind that came in black and white. This life was long, and she didn't like the way every day brought some reason for her to reassess everything.
Why couldn't he just be hateful?
*
Part of Darken relished Kahlan's frustration as if it were fine wine. A woman of her intelligence could not remain blind over a long period of time, and he prided himself on forcing her to acknowledge her blinders. She probably hated him more for it, but it was a worthwhile hate, one he could easily overcome. No matter how many months it had been since he first started this task, he never doubted what prize awaited him in the end.
And it was such a prize. Her hatred and bloodthirstiness had made his blood throb, but it was short-lived, and replaced by strategy. It had been a dangerous attraction. But this strength and determination she wore even after hatred became too difficult to maintain constantly, complemented by a sharp gaze and even sharper wit, spoke to the language of his soul. She should not have been born in the Midlands. They should have been matched from birth, Kahlan and himself, and raised in the same fashion, to rule when ruthlessness was needed. Oh if she could only see how he was the only man who could ever understand her. Oh if only she could leave behind such naive notions of unquestionable right and unforgivable wrong.
She would. Someday, she would. First she would look on him in love, and then he would show her that they should have been in love from the start...two dark stars circling a black hole, but never falling in. Never failing.
In the meantime, he satisfied himself with subverting her expectations and playing on her notions of evil. He knew it irritated her every time he showed love to Arianna, and so he made an effort to be more open about those feelings; they weren't lies, just exaggerations of the pride and affection he naturally felt for his tiny heir. Darken didn't care anymore if he rather liked giving familial affection to them both. Having a family didn't make him weak, just successful. So he told himself, often enough that it should have stuck...but it hadn't yet, and every so often there was a fear that he was actually becoming soft.
There was, after all, the fact that he didn't even have her in his bed.
"My lord," Garen once purred, stroking his chest as he lay sated as always, "I'm here almost every night. If your wife does not submit to your desires, I would be happy to train her to receive them as she should."
He gave a short grunt. "It is my choice who I sleep with, Mistress Garen. If I wanted my wife I would have her."
The Mord'Sith dared to raise an eyebrow at him, but said no more. For that he took her agiel and pressed it to her chin as he kissed her roughly, ending their tryst on a moment where pain and pleasure mingled.
It was not exactly a lie, what he'd told her. He would not defend himself to his Mord'Sith, but over and over he did so to himself. He lusted for Kahlan, but not like this. He wanted her to beg for him, to seduce him, to be breathless in desire, not because she was trained but because she was in love. What he wanted more than anything was to have the Mother Confessor in love with him. It would be the sweetest triumph of his life, even if the history books would never record it.
"Have you really lowered the taxes on the poorer lands of the Midlands?" Kahlan asked—nay, demanded—after Garen had left and she'd come into their chamber.
Darken raised an eyebrow, rolling onto his elbow to look at her more directly. "I've adjusted many land's taxes. Some higher, some lower."
She stared at him. "Why?"
"Why not?" He furrowed his brow. "I do not understand the question, wife."
The title, spoken simply, seemed not to disturb her. She passed over it and narrowed her gaze a little. "It's what they wanted."
He laughed shortly. "It's good policy not to attempt to squeeze water from a stone when there are sponges to be had. Do you think me a half-wit?"
"No," she answered, chewing the inside of her lip.
"I do not take pleasure in the suffering of my people," he told her in a less smug tone. She must surely understand this by now.
If she did, it didn't please her. Kahlan sighed and joined him in bed, question answered.
Daring to change their routine slightly, since she had broken the pattern first, he rolled over and kissed her shoulder. "Good night," he murmured.
She tensed slightly, but replied in kind and didn't push him away. Darken smiled to himself as he rolled back to his side. Kahlan wasn't ready to admit it, but her repressed hatred had turned to mere dislike some time ago.
*
"Mama," Arianna said, reaching up to press her small palm to Kahlan's nose.
She laughed. "That's right, Ari. Mama." In the bright summer sunlight, with the fountain gurgling behind them, it seemed like a fairyland. Just her and the daughter learning her first words.
"Mama," Arianna crowed, delighted with her new skill. She bounced on Kahlan's lap, black ringlets bouncing.
"Do you know, little girl, how much I love you?" Kahlan pressed a kiss to her child's round nose, smiling. "Someday you will save this whole world. And then no one will have to live in this horrible place, or have to suffer your father's rule."
"Dada?" The little girl looked up, blue eyes wide. "Dada?" She looked around eagerly.
Her mother cringed. "No..."
Arianna bounced on her mother's lap again. "Dada," she giggled, pointing to the palace, then reaching. "Dada!"
"No..." Kahlan shook her head, her smile taut. "No, Ari, it's just you and me. He's not a good man, we don't want to spend time with him. You're too little to understand."
Arianna was still less than a year old, and before she could pout, the glint of a goldfish in the fountain distracted her. Kahlan could not be so easily moved. Every time... Every time she found a moment's peace in this wearing nightmare, there he was. It was her fate, for failing the Midlands.
Finally, lips pressed together, she lifted her daughter in her arms and carried her back inside. The sun didn't feel so warm when she remembered that she only felt it, and only had a daughter to share it with, because of Darken Rahl. She ached for the day when her child was old enough to understand what must be done.
"My lady!" Alice came running up one of the main halls, a letter in her hand.
"What is it?" Kahlan asked, tipping her head as Arianna tried to pull at the curls escaping her updo.
"The annual report from the Midlands. Lord Rahl said you should look at it too."
"Oh did he," Kahlan said, biting back the bitter remark that it should have come to her first. There were days she still flashed with anger remembering that her husband controlled what had once been free realms. She handed Arianna to her servant, taking the fat letter. "Bring her back to the nursery, this will take me a while."
She was in no mood to care for her child, not when reality crashed into her little fairyland. Frustration never ceased to plague her, and it no longer mattered what Darken did; his mere presence in her life, the role he played, made her feel like a failure. Every day she surrendered, and yet they still called her Mother Confessor. Even he did. It was nothing but mockery now.
Pacing the hall, red brocade swishing against the polished stone, she scanned page after page of carefully drawn reports from every province in the Midlands. Her lips twitched as she took in every number, every word, brow narrowing as she neared the end. "This is impossible."
Two years of this marriage and she expected better. Restraint was out of reach today, and she forgot to retrieve the mask she'd removed once with her child; an iron gaze made servants back away as she strode angrily towards the high court of D'Hara.
Blood pulsing in her veins, hands fisted and half crumpling the pages still in her grip, she pushed the heavy double doors open herself. Kahlan ignored the business being taken care of, and walked straight into the hall with head held high. "Lord Rahl," her sharp voice rang out, filling the wide stone chamber.
Barons and counselors alike looked up in shock; she'd played the quiet queen long enough to fool them. Her husband looked up with only bare surprise, eyes widening a bit. The calm aggravated her anger, and she didn't take her eyes from him until she stood five paces from his throne. "We will speak now."
"Clear the court," Darken snapped in a quick order, flicking his wrist.
Not a soul dared linger.
Somehow, Kahlan forgot that he held the key to her radahan. She no longer attempted searching for her powers, impotent under magic more powerful than the force of nature she'd been born with; had she done so, she might have remembered that he also held the key to her continued existence, and that there was a reason she wore the mask of dutiful wife and queen.
She didn't remember, and Darken Rahl didn't remind her. "What is it, Mother Confessor?" he demanded of her, voice tightly controlled.
"I am Kahlan Amnell," she replied, swallowing anger with difficulty, "and you forced me to be your wife, not merely Mother Confessor. If I must submit to this, then I demand the respect I was promised." She thrust out her hand, papers in it. "Never try to lie to a Confessor, Darken Rahl, but especially never lie to me."
He rose from the throne, eyes a little darker than usual, and snatched the papers from her hand. "These are the reports from the governors of the Midlands."
"Altered by you, unless you expect me to believe such preposterous numbers!"
Darken turned his gaze on her. "What impulse would I have to lie about this?"
Kahlan almost retorted to win my favor but bit it back in time. Where had that come from? As if he cared what she wanted? He was seeking to torment her and nothing more. It was only a moment, though, before she had a better answer. "You are always lying, Darken Rahl. You know nothing else."
His eyes flashed with momentary fire, and the heat of it made her breath hitch just for a second; there was desire in that gaze, to turn this anger into lust and battle for control with bodies instead of words. Anger brought flush and a quickened heart-rate—in his mind, she could see, it might as well be arousal. She stood frozen, unable to look away.
Whatever the impulse, he mastered it in time. He laughed, almost harshly. "How observant you are, Kahlan. But do you not think that liars know the truth better than anyone?"
"I—" Kahlan swallowed, not knowing how to take that answer.
Darken took a couple steps forward, handing her the papers. "And I would not lie to you about this. This is accurate. It is remarkable how much economies grow when you force nations to focus on trade instead of alliances. This is the reward of my peace; I thought you would be happy for your people's success."
Kahlan took a swift breath. "This is still early. The people are recovering from the war, this time will not last once they realize that all their freedoms are gone."
"Did I ever say otherwise?"
Her brow narrowed a little. "No."
"Then I would ask that you not accuse me of lying," her husband said, and somehow made it sound like a request instead of a warning.
Kahlan's anger was now as impotent as her powers. "As you wish," she said, smoothly, and turned on her heel to exit the hall. He could not even grant her one solid crime that she could hate him for. Relying on old offenses to fuel her dislike was driving her to distraction, even more when his current behavior failed to fit.
Of all the things she shouldn't have pondered long after the encounter (but did) first on the list was why he hadn't acted on his lust.
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Kahlan/Darken Rahl
Summary: Parenthood and politics complicate war.
Warning/Notes: See Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
Now that he had his Confessor heir, Darken realized a flaw in his plan. Kahlan had not hated him when he came to her bed only once a month; she understood the necessities of continuing a line. But now, he would have to forego such marital intimacy, lest he turn her unsettled opinion to bitterness and hatred again. It was not a flaw so much as a frustration. He always had the Mord'Sith to tend to his needs, and his imagination if he wanted to indulge in picturing his goal—a Kahlan who came willingly to his arms, eyes alight with desire.
But nothing was quite satisfying in that way anymore. He found his hands twitching frequently, and wondered if maybe they'd been clean for too long. From the civilization of the Council Chambers, he descended to the dark of the Mord'Sith temple. Mistress Ellys bowed and offered him her place with a smirk. The agiel pulsed with his own magic, the pain blooming from his hand to the rest of his body. He smiled, both chill and warm, and set to training new recruits to the sisterhood of agiels.
His hands were bloody by the end, and he could almost taste the metallic tang in the air. But even after he'd cleaned up, wiped the sweat from his brow and changed into unstained robes, the primary emotion was not peace. It never was anymore.
He relished when he could leave himself behind and play the doting father. Arianna was a baby like any other, so he was told, fussy and affectionate in turn, making strange noises and sleeping at strange hours. Darken had never held a child before her, though, and found it endearing the way she turned her head towards his chest and snuggled when he spoke in a low soft voice. This wasn't so hard, whether Kahlan watched him or not. He thought he could not disdain his own father even further, but he did. How could any man be cruel or careless to such a life as this?
Mostly, of course, he gave his daughter attention for Kahlan's viewing. They were a family, and never more so than now. She watched him with hawk-eyes every time he came into the nursery and lifted Arianna from her cradle, murmuring words of promise. She would be the first Rahl to be born in a united empire, and he would raise her to rule well. The Council would have preferred a boychild, of course, as tradition dictated—Darken had no intention of daring to raise a male Confessor, though, and saw no reason why gender should change the fact that his child would be a true Rahl.
"You are the symbol of two nations," he told the blinking infant in his arms. "Through blood, raising, and ruling. Your name and mine will be the first of a new dynasty, an age of light for the world."
If Kahlan had any thoughts other than confusion as she watched and listened, Darken did not notice. Arianna reached for his finger when he stroked her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin, and he did not object when she pulled it to her mouth and started to suckle. It was almost amusing...almost, because he could not deny the odd sensation in his chest that he had yet to name. Perhaps this is what family always did to people. Perhaps this was what he'd always been missing, and there was no name for it only because people took it for granted.
"She is doing well," he said to Kahlan after laying the babe back in her cradle.
"She's strong," murmured Kahlan, chewing the inside of her lip.
"Is there a problem?"
His wife glanced up at him, then slightly to the left, as usual. "No, my lord." Her lips pursed, and she rose to depart the nursery, as if needing time to think over things. "I'm sure she will be grateful to have a father who makes sure that she is well."
So much was left unspoken, always. Darken considered that perhaps he was moving too fast, and she could not handle the change. Yet the infant was strange and new and fascinating, and how could he be a father if he was not moved to interest or care?
*
Kahlan missed the grooved hilt of her daggers pressing into her palms, the cool metal glinting in the sunlight, the clean noise of blade slicing through air followed by the wet sound of drawing blood from enemy flesh. Oh how her hands ached for something to do other than embroidery, her mind yearning for the simplicity of combat.
The desire was stupid. Peace was good, and the very result of her combat. Just because she'd never been taught how to live with it didn't mean that she had to give in to this childish instinct for familiarity. The legacy of the Confessors instructed her to adapt; her duty as Mother Confessor demanded it. Even if only for long enough to bring Richard back to her.
Sometimes she couldn't picture Richard's face, though. Sometimes when she remembered his name, she only connected it with being a girl. A young girl in love. Maybe if she could fight again, the adrenaline rush would trigger memories of the passion that gripped her heart every time she saw her beloved Richard. But in this life, nothing was that easy or emotional. Richard lived in the same past where war resided, far out of reach. And this nightmare was not quite terrifying enough.
Once Arianna was a few months old, Kahlan retook her honorary position as Mother Confessor. Darken had stripped her of all national power, of course, when taking the freedom from the people, but he'd not been foolish enough to deprive the people of their justice system. And for all that Kahlan wanted his plans to fail, she couldn't bear the idea of causing chaos.
So she held court, listening to petitioners and solving their disputes, a Confessor's smile on her face as always. Darken Rahl's queen was no mere trinket hanging on his arm, she made sure of that.
The man was deliberately making it hard for him to hate her, she would swear. It had been over a year since he'd summoned her to his bed for more than sleep, and she had to admit that her relief was tinged with suspicion. Why had he married her? Was it merely to bear an heir and keep the Midlands content?
On the days when she returned from the Council to find him in the nursery, murmuring grave but affectionate words to their daughter, her heart always leaped in fear first—the right reaction. This man had slaughtered thousands, and it was her tiny fragile daughter in his murderous hands. Always, she stood at the door, hands clenched at her side, forcing herself not to order him to put the baby down. She would tell herself reluctantly that he'd always shown a kind of affection to the child...perhaps even tyrants could not resist the calming affect of innocence.
"Kahlan," Darken once murmured, as he always did when noticing her presence.
"My lord," she said back, voice tight as she wished yet again that her beloved daughter could have any father but him.
He took a few steps to her side, offering the cooing infant to her. "She has missed you this morning."
How could you tell? Kahlan wanted to snap. But instead she just cradled her daughter and nodded. Whatever phenomenon produced this gentleness in her demon of a husband, she didn't truly want to change it. Their child needed to survive, for everyone's sake.
But bewilderment struck when he met her eyes, and his own had a deep warmth that seemed incompatible with the Rahl intensity of his being. "You two are so beautiful together."
She would have flinched if she'd sensed any mocking or trickery. She didn't. And when he walked past her out of the nursery, she shuddered. The more she learned of him, the more everything disturbed her. Kahlan loved the nature of truth, but she was starting to discover that she preferred the kind that came in black and white. This life was long, and she didn't like the way every day brought some reason for her to reassess everything.
Why couldn't he just be hateful?
*
Part of Darken relished Kahlan's frustration as if it were fine wine. A woman of her intelligence could not remain blind over a long period of time, and he prided himself on forcing her to acknowledge her blinders. She probably hated him more for it, but it was a worthwhile hate, one he could easily overcome. No matter how many months it had been since he first started this task, he never doubted what prize awaited him in the end.
And it was such a prize. Her hatred and bloodthirstiness had made his blood throb, but it was short-lived, and replaced by strategy. It had been a dangerous attraction. But this strength and determination she wore even after hatred became too difficult to maintain constantly, complemented by a sharp gaze and even sharper wit, spoke to the language of his soul. She should not have been born in the Midlands. They should have been matched from birth, Kahlan and himself, and raised in the same fashion, to rule when ruthlessness was needed. Oh if she could only see how he was the only man who could ever understand her. Oh if only she could leave behind such naive notions of unquestionable right and unforgivable wrong.
She would. Someday, she would. First she would look on him in love, and then he would show her that they should have been in love from the start...two dark stars circling a black hole, but never falling in. Never failing.
In the meantime, he satisfied himself with subverting her expectations and playing on her notions of evil. He knew it irritated her every time he showed love to Arianna, and so he made an effort to be more open about those feelings; they weren't lies, just exaggerations of the pride and affection he naturally felt for his tiny heir. Darken didn't care anymore if he rather liked giving familial affection to them both. Having a family didn't make him weak, just successful. So he told himself, often enough that it should have stuck...but it hadn't yet, and every so often there was a fear that he was actually becoming soft.
There was, after all, the fact that he didn't even have her in his bed.
"My lord," Garen once purred, stroking his chest as he lay sated as always, "I'm here almost every night. If your wife does not submit to your desires, I would be happy to train her to receive them as she should."
He gave a short grunt. "It is my choice who I sleep with, Mistress Garen. If I wanted my wife I would have her."
The Mord'Sith dared to raise an eyebrow at him, but said no more. For that he took her agiel and pressed it to her chin as he kissed her roughly, ending their tryst on a moment where pain and pleasure mingled.
It was not exactly a lie, what he'd told her. He would not defend himself to his Mord'Sith, but over and over he did so to himself. He lusted for Kahlan, but not like this. He wanted her to beg for him, to seduce him, to be breathless in desire, not because she was trained but because she was in love. What he wanted more than anything was to have the Mother Confessor in love with him. It would be the sweetest triumph of his life, even if the history books would never record it.
"Have you really lowered the taxes on the poorer lands of the Midlands?" Kahlan asked—nay, demanded—after Garen had left and she'd come into their chamber.
Darken raised an eyebrow, rolling onto his elbow to look at her more directly. "I've adjusted many land's taxes. Some higher, some lower."
She stared at him. "Why?"
"Why not?" He furrowed his brow. "I do not understand the question, wife."
The title, spoken simply, seemed not to disturb her. She passed over it and narrowed her gaze a little. "It's what they wanted."
He laughed shortly. "It's good policy not to attempt to squeeze water from a stone when there are sponges to be had. Do you think me a half-wit?"
"No," she answered, chewing the inside of her lip.
"I do not take pleasure in the suffering of my people," he told her in a less smug tone. She must surely understand this by now.
If she did, it didn't please her. Kahlan sighed and joined him in bed, question answered.
Daring to change their routine slightly, since she had broken the pattern first, he rolled over and kissed her shoulder. "Good night," he murmured.
She tensed slightly, but replied in kind and didn't push him away. Darken smiled to himself as he rolled back to his side. Kahlan wasn't ready to admit it, but her repressed hatred had turned to mere dislike some time ago.
*
"Mama," Arianna said, reaching up to press her small palm to Kahlan's nose.
She laughed. "That's right, Ari. Mama." In the bright summer sunlight, with the fountain gurgling behind them, it seemed like a fairyland. Just her and the daughter learning her first words.
"Mama," Arianna crowed, delighted with her new skill. She bounced on Kahlan's lap, black ringlets bouncing.
"Do you know, little girl, how much I love you?" Kahlan pressed a kiss to her child's round nose, smiling. "Someday you will save this whole world. And then no one will have to live in this horrible place, or have to suffer your father's rule."
"Dada?" The little girl looked up, blue eyes wide. "Dada?" She looked around eagerly.
Her mother cringed. "No..."
Arianna bounced on her mother's lap again. "Dada," she giggled, pointing to the palace, then reaching. "Dada!"
"No..." Kahlan shook her head, her smile taut. "No, Ari, it's just you and me. He's not a good man, we don't want to spend time with him. You're too little to understand."
Arianna was still less than a year old, and before she could pout, the glint of a goldfish in the fountain distracted her. Kahlan could not be so easily moved. Every time... Every time she found a moment's peace in this wearing nightmare, there he was. It was her fate, for failing the Midlands.
Finally, lips pressed together, she lifted her daughter in her arms and carried her back inside. The sun didn't feel so warm when she remembered that she only felt it, and only had a daughter to share it with, because of Darken Rahl. She ached for the day when her child was old enough to understand what must be done.
"My lady!" Alice came running up one of the main halls, a letter in her hand.
"What is it?" Kahlan asked, tipping her head as Arianna tried to pull at the curls escaping her updo.
"The annual report from the Midlands. Lord Rahl said you should look at it too."
"Oh did he," Kahlan said, biting back the bitter remark that it should have come to her first. There were days she still flashed with anger remembering that her husband controlled what had once been free realms. She handed Arianna to her servant, taking the fat letter. "Bring her back to the nursery, this will take me a while."
She was in no mood to care for her child, not when reality crashed into her little fairyland. Frustration never ceased to plague her, and it no longer mattered what Darken did; his mere presence in her life, the role he played, made her feel like a failure. Every day she surrendered, and yet they still called her Mother Confessor. Even he did. It was nothing but mockery now.
Pacing the hall, red brocade swishing against the polished stone, she scanned page after page of carefully drawn reports from every province in the Midlands. Her lips twitched as she took in every number, every word, brow narrowing as she neared the end. "This is impossible."
Two years of this marriage and she expected better. Restraint was out of reach today, and she forgot to retrieve the mask she'd removed once with her child; an iron gaze made servants back away as she strode angrily towards the high court of D'Hara.
Blood pulsing in her veins, hands fisted and half crumpling the pages still in her grip, she pushed the heavy double doors open herself. Kahlan ignored the business being taken care of, and walked straight into the hall with head held high. "Lord Rahl," her sharp voice rang out, filling the wide stone chamber.
Barons and counselors alike looked up in shock; she'd played the quiet queen long enough to fool them. Her husband looked up with only bare surprise, eyes widening a bit. The calm aggravated her anger, and she didn't take her eyes from him until she stood five paces from his throne. "We will speak now."
"Clear the court," Darken snapped in a quick order, flicking his wrist.
Not a soul dared linger.
Somehow, Kahlan forgot that he held the key to her radahan. She no longer attempted searching for her powers, impotent under magic more powerful than the force of nature she'd been born with; had she done so, she might have remembered that he also held the key to her continued existence, and that there was a reason she wore the mask of dutiful wife and queen.
She didn't remember, and Darken Rahl didn't remind her. "What is it, Mother Confessor?" he demanded of her, voice tightly controlled.
"I am Kahlan Amnell," she replied, swallowing anger with difficulty, "and you forced me to be your wife, not merely Mother Confessor. If I must submit to this, then I demand the respect I was promised." She thrust out her hand, papers in it. "Never try to lie to a Confessor, Darken Rahl, but especially never lie to me."
He rose from the throne, eyes a little darker than usual, and snatched the papers from her hand. "These are the reports from the governors of the Midlands."
"Altered by you, unless you expect me to believe such preposterous numbers!"
Darken turned his gaze on her. "What impulse would I have to lie about this?"
Kahlan almost retorted to win my favor but bit it back in time. Where had that come from? As if he cared what she wanted? He was seeking to torment her and nothing more. It was only a moment, though, before she had a better answer. "You are always lying, Darken Rahl. You know nothing else."
His eyes flashed with momentary fire, and the heat of it made her breath hitch just for a second; there was desire in that gaze, to turn this anger into lust and battle for control with bodies instead of words. Anger brought flush and a quickened heart-rate—in his mind, she could see, it might as well be arousal. She stood frozen, unable to look away.
Whatever the impulse, he mastered it in time. He laughed, almost harshly. "How observant you are, Kahlan. But do you not think that liars know the truth better than anyone?"
"I—" Kahlan swallowed, not knowing how to take that answer.
Darken took a couple steps forward, handing her the papers. "And I would not lie to you about this. This is accurate. It is remarkable how much economies grow when you force nations to focus on trade instead of alliances. This is the reward of my peace; I thought you would be happy for your people's success."
Kahlan took a swift breath. "This is still early. The people are recovering from the war, this time will not last once they realize that all their freedoms are gone."
"Did I ever say otherwise?"
Her brow narrowed a little. "No."
"Then I would ask that you not accuse me of lying," her husband said, and somehow made it sound like a request instead of a warning.
Kahlan's anger was now as impotent as her powers. "As you wish," she said, smoothly, and turned on her heel to exit the hall. He could not even grant her one solid crime that she could hate him for. Relying on old offenses to fuel her dislike was driving her to distraction, even more when his current behavior failed to fit.
Of all the things she shouldn't have pondered long after the encounter (but did) first on the list was why he hadn't acted on his lust.
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