Desperate Measures

“You’re the queen. Make yourself come.”

“I’ll be your equal, or I’ll be nothing. Do you understand me? Just because I love you doesn’t mean that I will sit at your feet ever again.” The slightest of hesitations. “At least not outside of the privacy of our bedroom.”

But it’s the cost of my freedom. To be answerable to no one but myself means stepping from my father’s shadow—from Jafar’s shadow, from Ali’s shadow—and into the role of queen.

My dress leaves red marks on the tile behind me, which is a mood all on its own. I

“It will work because it’s us.”

“I truly wish I could believe that.”

“You don’t have to believe it, baby girl. I’ll believe enough for both of us.”

Except, no. That’s not me talking. That’s the shame I’ve had drilled into my head since before I could speak. Good girls do this. Girl girls don’t do that.

“I don’t have control of so many things—of anything—but I ensured I’d at least have control of whether or not I have children.”

I’m no better than he is in so many ways, but when I strike a woman, it’s because she damn well wants it. Because she gets off on it.

A princess locked in a tower is only kept away from the world for one reason: it has nothing to do with her safety and everything to do with her perceived value.