Garsiv received Dastan in his own chambers. His adoptive little brother had just told him that he wanted help with an anniversary gift.

"It has to be something very special, you say?" A sneer began to spread across Garsiv's smooth face. Dastan must actually have developed some sort of feelings for the Alamutian lady who they aspired to call a princess. Tus and their father had claimed it to be so, and now he heard the evidence of it with his own ears. He could not really understand. The girl was pretty enough, but she had seemed far too bossy and open-mouthed for his liking. Garsiv thought humility and silence were more admirable traits in a woman. "You really like her that much?"

"I love her," said Dastan.

"My brother, be wise. Women only mean trouble if you let them have influence over you."

Dastan shot him an angry look. "I did not come here to discuss how women might be troublesome. I came to ask your help in choosing an anniversary gift for my wife. And I am rather in a hurry, because I leave for Alamut early tomorrow morning, so if you are just going to waste my time, I'll be on my way."

Garsiv thought for a second, then decided not to pick a quarry with his little brother. It was as if they had all of them – him, his brothers and their father – grown closer since Nizam's betrayal had been discovered, and he wanted things to stay that way. The bond between brothers was the sword that defended Persia. So king Sharaman had said to them all time and time again. It also came to Garsiv's mind that the reason why he could not understand Dastan's feelings for the girl might be that despite his numerous conquests in the battlefield of love, he had never truly been in love himself.

"All right," he said, his sneer changing into an actual smile. "I accept your sentiments. Now tell me, what kind of girl is Tamina? Out of my extended knowledge of the female ways, I am sure I can help you think of something that will bring her joy." He put his arm around Dastan's shoulders and the two of them talked the matter over while laying back on Garsiv's grandiose couches while eating sweet dates and sipping cool wine.

The next morning Dastan went early to the royal stable where he saddled his favourite horse, a dark brown, almost black, mare called Mitra. He travelled light as always, with just a bedroll and a pack tied onto the saddle. In the pack was, among other things, one special item wrapped in a pouch of soft brown leather. That was his gift for Tamina. Part of it, anyway. His talk with Garsiv had helped him form a good idea in his mind. He was still working on it, but then, he would be three days on the road, so he had time enough to get the details right.

He was in his armour and had his two scimitars strung to his back in their sheaths in the shape of an X. There was every chance he might meet some desert bandits on the way. If he was worried about that, it was for the sake of the bandits. If it came to blows, the common raiders would never know what hit them.

He set off at a steady trot down the hill as he looked over the city roofs in the morning sun. Nasaf was splendid in its way. Full of trade, entertainment, and endless goings-on. It was well ordered too. Guards were present on most corners to ensure that law-breakers were caught and tavern fights stopped before they got too far out of hand. Nasaf was noisy and dusty and colourful. He had grown up in its streets and always felt at home there. Even after the king had taken him in, he used to spend more time in those streets than within the palace walls. Most of the men that now served him were friends from those days. A few, such as Bis, he had known ever since he could remember.

The holy city of Alamut, where he had spent a great deal of the last year, was different. It was light, harmonious and peaceful in comparison. Everything seemed to go at a somewhat slower pace there, and with a great deal more decorum. He did not feel at home there like he did in Nasaf. But Alamut was growing on him. He liked to look at the tall, beautifully decorated, creamy white buildings. In Alamut he felt at peace to think more than in any other place.

His journey went without any trouble to speak of. As could be expected, a small band of raiders discovered his camp one night, but Mitra heard them coming and warned Dastan with the slightest of whinnies, just like he had trained her to do, so he was on his feet, scimitars at the ready, before the bandits even got within the circle of light spread by his small camp fire. And as it happened, one of them recognised him and the band decided to draw back before he even had a chance to say hello.

At mid-morning on the third day of his journey he rode through the gates of Alamut. The sentries greeted him cordially.

He rode into the palace yards and handed Mitra's reins over to a stable boy after taking his packs from her saddle. He usually preferred to groom her himself, but whenever he arrived here, he was simply too eager to lay his eyes on Tamina to waste a minute that could be spared. He hoped the mare would understand. "Good job, Mitra. Enjoy your rest. I'll see you later," he muttered to her while he patted her neck. Then he let the stable boy take her away into the airy, shady stable building. She snorted her reluctant acceptance.

Dastan went up the many wide marble steps to the palace entrance, self-conscious of how filthy he was with sweat and road dust compared to the practically shining clean officials and servants who walked across the yard and the stairs in all directions. He tugged off his white head-cloth that served as protection against the sun when he rode and dried his face and his hands with it. As usually, one of the officials at the top of the stairs waved once in greeting to Dastan and then disappeared hurriedly inside. Dastan knew then, that the palace's chamberlain would seek him out within very few minutes and ask if there was anything he needed, and whether he wished Tamina to be informed of his arrival.

He continued through the light-filled halls and corridors, taking care not to brush against the chalked walls or the light tapestries until he reached the suite of chambers that had been assigned to him after his marriage to the princess. There he went inside and set down his packs near the wall. Just as he was putting his scimitars on the carved weapon rack next to the bed, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called.

The chamberlain, a short, bald man with a round nose and lively eyes, entered and bowed deeply. "Welcome, prince Dastan."

"Thank you, Hikirim."

"Is there anything you need, my prince?" the chamberlain asked with another, smaller, bow. At first Dastan had tried to make him stop bowing at every word, but to no avail. When he had found it was the same with all of the officials and servants, he had given up and accepted that this was the way things were done here.

"No, Hikirim, thank you."

"Would you like me to inform the princess that you have arrived?"

"No, thank you. I would like to surprise her," Dastan said with a grin.

"Very well, prince Dastan. Would you like a bath prepared for you?" There was a bathroom in his suite of chambers, with a golden bathtub, hot steaming stones and all the kinds of fine soaps and oils you could dream of. But Dastan preferred to use the servants' common bathhouse in a grove behind the palace. There was no need to carry up all those buckets of water to his room. He inquired whether it was open at the moment.

"It certainly is, prince Dastan," the chamberlain assured with another of those funny little bows.

"Then I shall bathe there." At home he usually bathed with all of his men in the lower city public bathhouse and no one took any special notice of him. Dastan knew that the chamberlain would send a servant ahead to the bathhouse to at least make sure there was room enough and clean water ready for Dastan when he arrived. There was nothing he could do about that if he did not want to seem ungrateful, he supposed.

When the Hikirim had left, Dastan went to a dresser where he found stacks of fresh, lovely smelling shirts, tunics and breeches woven in the softest mix of linen and cotton and tailored for him personally. He wrapped a set of the comfortable, luxurious clothes and a clean pair of slippers in a towel from the bathroom so he would not make them dirty on the way down. When he left the suite, he noticed that a servant boy had already been posted at his door, ready to run any errand or take any message. Poor boy. It must be the most boring task in the palace considering how little time Dastan actually spent in his chambers. But the boy would get in trouble if he sent him away. Instead he reached in his pocket and gave the boy a few coins that he found there. The boy took the coins, bowed low and then grinned broadly at him.

"Thank you, prince Dastan!"

Dastan went on his way to the back entrance of the palace, which opened to the gardens that lay next to the grove where the bathhouse was situated. He quickened his pace, eager to get cleaned up and fit to see the princess. But as he rounded a corner, he almost bumped into someone. He saw a blur of shiny, dark hair, the same colour as Mitra's skin, and a pair of large, dark brown eyes, and realised instantly who it was: Tamina.

He had planned to surprise her, and surely they were now both surprised. He only wished she hadn't seen him covered in dirt. The second they caught each other's eye, his heart skipped a beat. She always seemed more beautiful than he could remember when he had been away from her for a time, even if it was no longer than a week. Her eyes sparkled at him and her soft red mouth was still slightly open in surprise.

"Dastan!" she said, in her unique, sweet voice. That voice which had once scolded him, ordered him around and yelled at him when they first met, but later had spoken softly to him, had spoken words of love. If only she could remember. He longed so ardently to hear her say them again.

He did not know what to say to her. He wished that he could simply hold her close. But he did not know how she would react if he tried to do so. As ever, he was afraid of pushing her away.

"I - I just arrived," he managed breathlessly.

"So I can see." In no time at all her eyes had flashed down at his body, registering the state of him, and then back to his face. Now her lip curled just a little bit.

More silence. He wanted to say something interesting, but nothing came to mind. "I was just on my way to clean up. Would it be all right if I came to see you after?" He said in the end. Could he have been more dreary?

"Of course. You are my husband, are you not?" Oh, the awkwardness! It was driving her mad. Why had she said that way? Well, it was his own fault. If only he would be more relaxed around her.

"I am, and consequently the luckiest man under the sun." He felt the awkwardness too. It was best to move on now before it got any worse. This first meeting had not gone as well as he had hoped. Usually he kissed her cheek when he greeted her, to show her that he would like to be in physical contact with her. But it would not do now, when he was all sticky with dust and sweat and smelled like a pig. He stepped around her, holding her gaze for a while, and then continued down the corridor towards the garden.

"Dastan," Tamina called after him.

He turned back around.

"I'll be in my study," she said, smiling.

He nodded, smiling back. Somehow he felt all the better because of that smile of hers.

He entered the men's end of the bathhouse, and as he had predicted, a servant was waiting for him. The servant showed him to a basin that had obviously just been cleaned and filled with fresh, tempered water from the built-in taps. He placed the clean bundle of clothes on a carved bench made of light olive wood. Then he took off his boots, vest and breeches. The servant placed a tray of select soaps and oils near the edge of the basin as Dastan slid himself into the water. For a moment he just sat back and enjoyed the feeling of the water enclosing his body and lifting away the dirt. There was nothing like a cool bath after a long, hot journey.

"Is the temperature to your satisfaction, prince Dastan?" the servant asked.

"Absolutely," he said looking up at the servant. "You can be on your way. I'll take care of myself," he added.

The servant bowed and picked up Dastan's dirty clothes and took them away to be washed. Now the prince was almost alone in the bathhouse. There were six large, square basins in the room, placed in two adjacent rows. The basin that had been prepared for him was in one corner and in the opposite corner, two servants, who looked like they had been mucking out the stables, had just come in and was preparing for a bath too. They spoke in hushed voices, probably in order not to disturb him, but at the same time pretended not to have noticed him. Otherwise the room was empty and quiet except for some gentle birdsong from the gardens and the silent gurgling of the water against the basin walls. Dastan took a breath and held it. Then he slid under the surface entirely and all sounds were muffled and replaced with the surreal, constant whooshing of the water pressing on his eardrums. When his head came back up, he rubbed the water from his eyes and reached for the soap on the tray.