"You're a coward, your majesty!" Aladdin called out. The sultan, for a moment looked confused, until Aladdin met his eyes, and Cassim stopped to regard Aladdin. "King of the Thieves? Ha! If you cannot even face one boy in a fair fight, how can you deserve such an outrageous title?"

At first, Cassim seemed simply stunned. His sword dropped from its expert position, and he looked at Aladdin as if seeing him for the first time. His henchmen, however, his subjects, were relatively quick to rally to his support.

"Shut your mouth, boy!"

"He doesn't have to prove himself to you!"

But others turned the tide. Saluk barked in laughter, feigning good humor as he chuffed Cassim on the shoulder, the man still unspeaking.

"Look like he's got you there, Cassim."

Aladdin watched all of this with quick, darting eyes. This was where his victory would lie. Clearly this group was not a stable one. From what he could tell so far in his time with these legendary theives, there was some sort of power rift, a dominance battle between Saluk and their King that constantly bubbled under the surface. You could see it in the way the two titans looked at one another. A constant challenge, a constant 'try me' attitude that they managed to disguise as lighthearted.

Aladdin decided to try and play his next card. He tipped back his head, striking a relaxed pose with his hand resting lightly on his hip, smiling both brightily and warmly, and said,

"Come on, old man, try me."

If only he knew the effect that smile had on the King of Theives.

The King, on his part, had been attracted to Aladdin from the first moment he tumbled out of the carriage. He was everything Cassim valued. He was youthful, bold, and, perhaps most importantly, he was daring. He was brave, but there was gentleness to him, a fire sweetened., a tenderness seen as he regarded the injured sultan, or sympathised to even Rasoul's plight. His eyes were large, dark, and flattering, and Cassim knew he had to find out what emotions he could envoke out of them. In short, the boy was beautiful. As he watched to boy stiffen his will, brace his legs and his sword arm as Cassim approached, he knew. He wanted this boy to need him, follow him, and want him.

And, as the most determined, goal orientated man in the five fingered business, Cassim wasn't put off easy, not even by the most coy of prey. At the very least, he had to play to his men, he was loosing their support rapidly.

"Try you?" Cassim said with loud humor as he came to a stop in front of a still defensive Aladdin, "Why my boy, I could swallow you whole!"

There was loud chuckles and cheering at that, but Aladdin was not to be put off.

"All words are we then, sire?" Aladdin knew as soon as he said to be ready for an attack, an attack did come. He brought his sword up horizontally as Cassim's curved blade came down in a broad, general swipe. The power of the offense, however, made Aladdin begrudgingly stumble back.

"Fine, boy-"

"Aladdin." He corrected strongly. "I am no child."

Cassim smiled benignly. "Fine Aladdin," he took his time tasting the name on his tongue, "Let us play then."

He swung again, this time swooping lower than his initial attack. Aladdin, expecting another upward manuever, was forced to lunge backward, and near lost his footing. He went down, yes, but made the best of his screw up by throwing his leg out as he descended. Cassim did not fall, but was put off balance, which gave time for Aladdin to rise. He smiled, pink cheeked and triumphant, as the tables turned and he advanced on Cassim.

Cassim's men watched, hooting and cheering, making irreverant bets against both Aladdin and their leader, while Saluk watched from down the bridge of his nose, pretending to be interested in picking his nails with a small dagger. But this was not the pair's only audience. Sultan's eyes watched too, his breath hitching every time it seemed Cassim had the upper advantage. He was hoping for all he was worth, experiencing little deaths and births every time Aladdin suffered a slash or delivered one himself. His own danger seemed in the back of his mind, as he watched his future son in law fight for his life.

Rasoul watched too. He had worked his way directly in front of the sultan for two reasons. Firstly, for protection. He would allow no common scum to approach or threaten the sultan; he may be bound, dammit, but he was still breathing. Second, his position in the carriage allowed for him to steadily work against his bonds unseen, wriggling, twisting and straining. His shoulders ached and his wrists burned, but his mind was elsewhere. His brow furrowed as he watched Aladdin. The streetrat…well, to be honest, he expected him to be floored within seconds. Then he'd have the clean up the mess.

But as he watched, his interest was invoked. Aladdin was actually holding his one. He should have know, the little brat was hard catch back in his old theft days. And hell, at least he wasn't on their side. 'Just give me some more time, boy' Rasoul thought as his hands worked at a furious pace.

Aladdin's spared his surrondings a small glance as he had to sidestep two of Cassim's men just to keep moving, and they weren't cooperative at the very least of the definition. They tried to trip him in their own dishonest way, but, to Cassim's approval, he learned quickly, and was light on his feet. Like a sure winged bird, he darted, he dodged, he flew….

Cassim felt the good burn set in. He wasn't as young as he used to be, but this was the satisfaction, this was the gratifying slow ache in his bones. Aladdin was giving him his money's worth.

The boy was as inventive as he was…well, careless. He would take unneccesary risks. He had, on impulse, as Cassim was caught in offense, grabbed the lower half of Cassim's sword, and twisted. It almost fell from Cassim's hand, to his dismay, but to Aladdin's chagrin, Cassim was stronger, and pulled back. Cassim was amazed to find Aladdin's hand doused red from his manuever. The boy hardly gave it a glance, just swiping it on his pant leg.

Aladdin's own sword handle slipped painfullly in his hand, grating against his open slice, and yet he did his best to not let Cassim notice. But despite his efforts, the king observed every wince Aladdin gave, the way he constantly changed his grip on his weapon. His efforts became sloppy, desperate; he could no longer put the same force behind each swing of his sword. Cassim's brow furrowed; Aladdin was loosing.

He knew his men were watching. They were jackel-like, predatorial, and they could sense his growing weakness, smell his ineptitude, see his body slow and swerve and loose precision. They knew and expected Cassim to make his finishing move. It was only a matter of time. Cassim frowned yet again. Did they really expect him to kill Aladdin? One look at their expectant faces, and he knew the answer.

So…this was how it was going to be, then? His mind worked furiously, and his body worked automatically countering and checking Aladdin's advance. He had no qualms about killing, or rather, he had killed enough to know it got easier each time, until it was almost a job, a task. But to kill someone he had so foolishly infested affection in? To slit the throat, to permanently cool the blood of a beautiful boy he wanted to have for his very own? He could not imagine himself doing it. He steeled his will; he would not let this boy die today, and especially not by his hands.

But how to get out of it? He could not loose face in his men's eyes. The status quo was shaky enough as is. Saluk would simply color his refusal to kill Aladdin as an admission of weakness. Saluk simply didn't understand matters of the gentlemen's heart….

He watched Aladdin closer now. It was dawning upon him, that is, a little faith, and a little bit of brilliance, if he didn't say so himself. Perhaps it wouldn't be sink or swim, perhaps, he could get what he wanted, and so could his men.

And maybe even Aladdin.

Aladdin's back thudded to the split boards of the carriage wall, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment in pained surprised. He let the sword hang loose from his bleeding hand, and considered for a moment trying his left hand. But no, that wouldn't help, he knew that. He just wanted so much to drop his sword, to drop this fight. This was getting way too real, way too fast. And Cassim was wearing him down. He searched his older combatant's face. Was he doing the same? He hoped so.

So he kept his sword at the ready, and he panted as Cassim approached, a little too worn to jump right into the defensive. His eyebrow arched as Cassim threw away his sword, and earned some incredulous gasps from his theives.

"So what do you say boy, why don't we make this little battle of ours a little more interesting?"