Jafar's long-fingered hand stopped in the arc of striking Jasmine. A smirk stole over his face.

"Genie?" he intoned. The blue-skinned jinn, curled up into himself on the nearby stairs, turned glumly.

"I have decided to make my final wish." Jasmine's huge, honey-brown eyes widened in horror as the traitorous vizier spoke the next words. "I wish for Princess Jasmine to fall desperately in love with me."

The Genie, humorous as ever, morphed into the figure he used when outlining his rules. "Ah, Master?" he said in an affected tone. "- there are a few agendas, some quid pro pro –"

"Don't talk back to me, you stupid blue lout! You will do what I order you to do, slave!" Jafar snapped acidly, shoving his staff threateningly in the Genie's face. Jasmine glanced desperately around, the chamber swirling around her. She saw nothing, no familiar cheeky face at a window, ducking in the shade of a tapestry.

Slowly, the Genie turned to Jasmine. A chilling sense of numbing terror overwhelmed her as she saw the apology and sorrow in his eyes. Jafar leant leisurely on his staff and smiled crookedly at the Arabian princess. Jasmine rose tremulously to her feet.

Jasmine imagined life without her independence. Her inner spark, the force that drove her to live, turned into a mindless drone fawning after Jafar. In another flash, she saw the life she could lead – oppressed, miserable, but still with a fire in her heart and a mind of her own. After some time she might even gain the trust of the vizier, one day be able to fool him and lead her father far away, away from Agrabah. Who knows? If they got that far, maybe someday they could reclaim the throne.

The Genie's thick finger haltingly lifted towards Jasmine. She watched his mouth form words – 'I'm so sorry.'

Something choked her throat, hot and thick. She struggled with her pride, and, in a burst of terror, felt her voice escape unbidden past her lips.

"No! Please! I'll do whatever you say!"

One haughty, black brow raised interestedly. He cuffed the Genie hard on the shoulder with his snake-headed staff, pausing him. Jafar crooked a long finger, and the golden crown he'd conjured before materialized into his palm. He stepped forward in a swirl of billowing robes, uncomfortably close.

"Will you?" Jafar purred, his voice laced with humour. "Would you say it though, I wonder? Say that you pledge yourself to me, princess." He leant closer, and a shudder passed through her as she felt his breath on her face. "Say it, and I will spare you the Genie's wish."

"Renounce your pride..."

Jasmine's delicate hands balled into angry fists. Her nails bit into the soft skin, painfully hard. She forced herself to look into his kohl-lined eyes, glinting with the intensity of a madman's flame. For Father, she told herself. For Aladdin.

"I will – on one condition." Jafar's other brow arched. "I take care of my father. He can't be tortured."

"No, Jasmine!" The Sultan cried behind them. "Don't do this! Don – " Jafar waved his staff angrily, and the Sultan spoke soundlessly, his mouth moving uselessly. Jasmine's father caught her eye. His gaze was filled with protest. She looked away, back at Jafar, reclaiming his attention.

"If you do that –" she swallowed, trying to force down the lump rising in her throat. "If you do that, I will be your queen."

A shiver-inducing smile spread over Jafar's face. "Done."

He snapped his arm forward suddenly, and a stream of crimson fire shot from Jafar's cane – hitting Jasmine squarely in the chest. Clothes wrapped themselves around her curvy, slender frame, tight against her skin. Shakily, Jasmine opened her tightly-closed eyes and felt with a twinge of disgust Jafar's hand at her back, supporting her. He guided her next to the throne; she saw beneath the clearing blur him form a more graceful, identical throne to his beside his own, carved intricately from the ground.

With a click of his fingers, Jafar brought forth a vapour-formed mirror from thin air, directly in fromt of her. Circling her, he began to compliment her, each oily comment passing heedlessly over her head. As the sorcerer stepped behind her she felt something settle on her swept back, beautiful hair – the gold crown, shining cruelly in the lamplight. She looked at the familiar attire in the reflected image, and Jasmine's eyes filled involuntarily, her throat burning. She wore scarlet and black robes, embellished, fitted closely to her figure, with a feminine cut. The reflected Jasmine wore the counterpart outfit of Jafar. His subject.

His queen.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Jasmine spun around at the tortured shout, and saw Aladdin, silhouetted in an archway on the higher floor. His handsome face was etched with a despair so intense tears glimmered in his dark eyes. The princess clutched at her chest, horrified, feeling the Jafar-styled robes beneath her touch. Aladdin was alive?

Jafar let out a furious shriek. "How many times do I have to kill you, boy?" he howled. He zapped bolts of crackling energy at the lean, muscled young man. Only his street-learned flexibility stopped him from getting vaporized. Aladdin locked his gaze with Jasmine's. "Get the lamp!" he called, darting death rays.

Immediately Jasmine moved to rush towards the lamp – but her body froze, unmoving. She tried to drag her arm upward, and the limb shook, but did not move. This incapability to simply move her body shocked her to the core.

"ALADDIN!" she screamed. Distracted, Aladdin whipped his head round, and Jafar darted into the form of a great snake – wrapping itself around the boy. The Jafar-Snake uttered a low, maniacal chuckle.

"She can't, boy," the Jafar-Snake laughed coldly. "You see, she gave me her promise. Try and break a promise with a sorcerer, boy..." The Snake tightened its coils, and Aladdin gasped painfully for air. "And the consequences are suffocating!"

Realization washed over the princess. In giving her word, Jasmine had magically bonded the terms of her agreement with Jafar – meaning that she was helpless to go against it. Jasmine dropped to her knees.

"JASMINE!" Aladdin cried, his voice breathless, contorted with pain. "JASMINE!"

Unable to run toward her love, Jasmine slowly bowed her head. As the screams of the dying Aladdin filled her ears, moisture flooded from Jasmine's closed lids, underneath the long, dark, feathered lashes, flowing down her cheeks.

Eventually, the screams stopped.

Jasmine felt cold. She heard soft, stealthy footsteps coming toward her. A spidery hand fell on her shoulder, freezing the skin it touched.

"Don't fret your pretty little head, my queen." A smooth, serpentine voice grinned. The gangly fingers tightened, and she felt a wave of warmth as movement returned to her. At the edge of her vision, she saw Jafar's face levered down next to hers, felt the shadow it cast on her cheek.

"Everything...will be fine..."

And so the reign of Sultan Jafar began.