A/N: And this is the end of my drabbles. I might have another one-shot up pretty soon, if I can beat it into submission. Just keep on the lookout, and visit my profile once in a while, and you should be good. Enjoy!
Mozenrath knew he had changed when, after making love to her one night, he began thinking of a suitable way to propose to her.
When he couldn't figure out why the spell wasn't working, she leaned over his shoulder and pointed out an error in his calculations.
Of course, she thought to herself as she counted the days, any child of his would be contrary and refuse to arrive on time.
He couldn't understand why she insisted that their wedding night was something special—they had, after all, been intimate for some time already.
On a very humid night, she ordered him to sleep in another part of the Citadel, and he hadn't realized until later that he had gone without a word of argument.
When she approached him that day and told him she was pregnant, her mouth dropped as he asked, "Hadn't I already told you that we had successfully conceived?"
There had been a point in time when he would have relished in seeing her blood splattered against the walls and pouring quickly from her, but now as she lay in a spreading pool of red, his first thought was of how quickly he could save her.
He'd been taunting her when she tried to punch him, the force of her swing throwing her off balance as her blow didn't land, and when she grabbed onto his sleeve as she fell and took him down with her, he pinned her against the floor and said, "My, my, Princess, isn't this an interesting turn of events?" and kissed her.
He was surprised that she could love him so much when she let slip that many of the scars marring her delicate flesh had come from him.
"Hmm, I love you too, Mozenrath."