January 1702
The town of Haifa, with a hamlet of roughly two hundred, served as a fine harbor for the anchorage of galleys and other vessels. Built on the slopes of Mount Carmel, Haifa Bay was a desolate ghost of what it may have been thousands of years prior.
There were rumors of the Bay becoming a lair for pirates but it seemed void of scandalous traffic tonight.
The only commotion: sandaled feet pattering across the docks. A few dozen women skittered sand across the wood, stumbling over those in front of them, as they ran in a huddle.
A ship came into view whose notable desolation and lack of maintenance was evident even in the dark. How long had the bloody thing been abandoned? A questionable plank lowered and up they went in rows of two.
"Hush. Hush."
Their murmurs to keep quiet made them all the louder, but it wasn't even clear why they need to be quiet in the first place. (Much less flee in the middle of the night.)
"Aladdin, slow down." She called from behind the group.
Half attentive he signaled with his hands to keep running.
Her lungs burned. "For the last time explain this."
"My answer is as before – later." He pulled her along. "You want to live? Stay silent. Listen."
The story of her life: 'Do as a man says and keep quiet about it.' Only the scenery changed, never the company.
"This is a blade. Aim for the neck if you must. If you can't, run." Aladdin's frantic energy made her nod and a small dagger was clumsily shoved in her sweaty palms. "Don't worry about them – if it comes to you or them, it's you."
She'd always save herself though. Always had.
Suddenly a blinding light shot across the desert. A firework in the vast distance from whence they'd come – ten miles or so. In awe she watched as it lingered brilliantly in the inky black sky and slowly trickled down.
Aladdin yanked her by the arm. "I said keep moving – I may even now be too late. If Allah be gracious, that's a sign from Lilura." Aladdin spoke to himself but she snapped a response.
"What sign!? Aladdin what're we doing? Where are Roel and the others? If he finds you've stolen his women–"
Aladdin propelled her up the plank, and she waved her arms out like a bird falling from a branch. She steadied her footing on the deck, cocked a fist and punched him in the arm before grabbing him by the ear.
"I don't care what you've done for me, I will rip this thing off your face if you don't talk straight." That side of her surfaced too easily but proved useful.
"Shit, Tahira," Aladdin yanked free his throbbing ear. "I don't know anything! Alright?" He lowered to a hush so the others wouldn't hear. They were shaken enough already. "Lilura gave strict instructions to flee camp with you whor–, women. Please. Just get below deck and do as I say."
Tahira's wild curls sprouted from beneath her hijab. "I've done plenty what you asked over the last month – haven't seen a reward of it either."
"That was only twice and I was decent to you." Aladdin insisted and she took a steadying breath.
The last of two dozen women, and a handful of little ones, finished crowding beneath the ship's deck. Rahman, the boy from the brothel's café held out a hand for Tahira. She nudged her chin and he retreated to join the rest. Tahira worked her jaw side to side, hating the way it clicked at the joint.
"Aladdin – whatever this is, wherever she's taken our men, it can't be good. Lilura is not safe."
As the last of the light faded in the distance there came a horrific sound; like that of a million cicadas screeching across the desert sands. Tahira shuddered, eyes watering in fear.
"Could be Lilura. That's the way they'd gone – I'm sure of it. I must join the rest."
"I have a sick feeling." But Tahira's fingers slipped from his damp hand as he pulled away.
"I have to leave." Aladdin said boyishly, then, as if remembering what was at stake, became vexed. "Protect the ship. Lilura will need it when we return. Do not let anyone steal from her. You aim for their throat if so."
As if she would kill anyone on that bitch's behalf.
"Remember to run."
Two months ago, she'd tried running. Running from Ummah. Look where it'd gotten her.
Aladdin embraced Tahira's unresponsive body. When they separated, he covered his face beneath his uniform and took off down the planks. He mounted his tired mare, the one he'd dragged along with them, then gave a final wave. Tahira tucked the blade safely into the wrapping around her waist and crammed below deck.
The little ship looked more ghastly in the daylight, Aladdin noted. A man who was missing a few fingers, along with a personality, was aimlessly handed the reigns of Aladdin's mare. She'd be boarded later.
Aladdin rubbed the back of his neck feeling the grime of the last three days. He should have bathed in the tavern last night, but the water had been darker than his skin and he doubted he'd emerge any less filthy.
From the ship Aladdin saw someone rear their head before ducking back down again. He'd almost forgotten the luggage he'd left behind. He tugged on his hair anxiously.
"What about the women?"
Lilura's green eyes rolled heavenward – as if heaven were a curse and Aladdin right along with it.
"I should have been there. Not herding a flock of soiled doves to a ship. What use are them to me? Their captors are all dead leaving behind children and helpless mothers as my responsibility."
Aladdin's cheeks squished together as she took them between her claws, "Follow the course along the coast as we discussed. Only as we discussed. Leave details and causalities to me."
Lilura took the lead and Aladdin held up a finger to those behind him before following after.
Intentional gold shimmers glinted off her otherwise pale skin as she boarded; the waking sun accenting the maroon dress that hugged her hipbones. Extravagant and sharp. Regardless of the setting, Lilura took ownership of everything around her. The wind obeying her whims, dying flat in order that she alone be heard. Tahira felt the effect of the witch often, yet was never prepared for when it happened – for when a demon walked among them.
Tahira and the women stepped into the sunlight, squinting, huddled together afraid to break from the pack. As if numbers alone could ward off a witch, Tahira mused, though she still refused to stand alone.
Aladdin fell into sight, with stiff drooping shoulders and wide eyes. He'd likely fall ill at any moment. Something had happened. Something very wrong.
"Congratulations," Lilura had a way of commanding each syllable to sound like a snake coiling around an apple. Attractive, enticing, otherworldly. "You're no longer slaves to the so-called King of Thieves. You've been granted a gift rare few mortals ever receive – freedom. And it is I who grants, not only liberty, but vast potential. The ship in which you stand could be your gateway into a new life – if you follow me."
"This is Roel's ship."
By the sharp collection of breaths Tahira knew her words hadn't shocked only herself. Lilura on the other hand gave an expectant grim. In response, her frail arms floated to the side and her heels clipped the wood like a dagger being thrown repeatedly at a wall.
Clip. Clip. Clip. Until that same dagger landed before Tahira's toes.
"Where is Roel?" Hot breath plumed in Tahira's eyes. "Has anyone seen him?"
Rhetorical question. Tahira had learned the phrase years ago when Ummah asked if she'd wanted freedom or survival. There was never an option between the two. It's how she knew Lilura's proclamation was full of shit.
"You don't see him, pet? Then he is your leader. And this is my ship." Lilura's unholy green eyes sliced through Tahira's, but it was impossible to look away. She held her there without movement.
A woman in back hissed, "Roel is our leader," clearly disregarding the safety of the two children on her hip. "Aladdin is a child. He is a street rat without guts."
"Roel is dead." Aladdin barked crossing his arms as he stepped forward. A carefree expression conflicted his mournful tone. "They're all dead. The night of our escape. I went back. It'd been too late. Lilura barely escaped with her life. Praise heaven for that."
Only the breath of wind passed over the deck of the ship. The flaccid sails clanking against the posts. Aladdin droned on; chest puffed.
"Zamora, I know Roel fathered your children. Dozens of you have now lost the provider for your offspring – but though we be no longer King of Thieves the one truth I shall carry on is that we are all family. I will provide a new foundation for what our tribe is to be and I will avenge those we lost."
"Why should you expect any of us to stay?" Tahira found her voice, anger temporarily breaking Lilura's hold.
Aladdin flinched at the abrupt shift in allegiance among the women as low murmurs broke into a discord.
"Why on earth would we surrender our freedom to another man?"
"He's not a man! He's a coward! Always hiding when there's work to be done!"
"Open waters are no place for small children."
His round eyes pleaded for Lilura to take the lead, but she continued ignoring Aladdin, too infatuated with her newest pet. Her talons found their way through one of Tahira's loose curls, tugging it as she exhaled warm against Tahira's flesh. The scent was sweet, but Tahira knew there was a stench so foul underneath the surface. She held her breath, closing her eyes to keep from crying.
Aladdin's voice warbled, unsure. "L-Lilura and I have made clear you're no longer prisoners… this can be a family. Lilura?" Aladdin offered seeing Tahira might faint at any moment. But he did little to help. Instead, he became immobile at Lilura's susurration.
"There's the dock, Lovie. You want to run? Do you think I'll stop you? Mmm? The aging whore with sores on her taint? What value are you?"
Tahira's mouth warbled, trembling upside down as she attempted to pull her head further from Lilura's icy touch. Tahira had felt death often: beneath the weight of a stranger as he poured his self-hatred into her body. She'd felt death when hunger became too much and she vomited stomach acid just for something to swallow down again. But this feeling – this touch. This was what true death felt like, and Tahira nearly cried in relief when Lilura shoved her away to shout at them all.
"What value are any of you!? You have what right to question my motives? My power over your pathetic, insignificant human lives. A war is coming and I need warriors, allegiance. Not cowards. Not traitors! Those of you who want to run," she shot an arm out toward the dock "Run!"
More than half hesitated, then obeyed, rushing as if their lives depended on it. Even worse, most abandoned their children in the process. And those that did, and there were many, were struck dead before they even left the plank. Their faces planted against the wood before their bodies rolled off into the water.
Could anyone fault them for trying!? They'd been bred like cattle. Having children without consent. Burdens they never asked for. Would Tahira have done the same thing if she were a mother? Possibly – she'd never know.
Those whom kept their children, lived, and didn't look back, but kept running.
Tahira's stomach lurched and four others vomited where they stood. Then a fifth. Someone would need to clean it; Tahira swallowed hers back down to minimize the mess. Had fear not struck her motionless Tahira might've run out too. Yet luck was scarce out in the world for a woman like her. Perhaps they'd sail to a land where she might make a home and be free, like she'd always dreamed of.
As quickly as hope sparked it died out. Burly men stormed up the plank and it bowed beneath their collective weight. A lone body was left in their path – a woman named Pria. The first man shoved her with the side of his boot and she toppled over with a splash. Tahira closed her eyes at the assaulting sound.
Fifteen men boarded. Sixteen if she counted Aladdin. Tahira didn't.
"Ladies!" Aladdin's arms gesticulated widely, all arrogance erasing any trace of remorse over the dead. Tahira hated him. "Meet your new shipmates. Mates! Get to work! We set course at dawn."
The men wasted no time loading the dock, the remaining women and children, more than half now orphans, going separate ways. Someone barked orders, Aladdin's voice being one of them as everyone took more or less to a job. But the craze of energy blurred.
I ran alright. From one problem to the next. Constantly worse. Deadlier. Another trap. Did Jasmine ever get to run again? Was she even alive? Aladdin spoke as if she were – swore he'd seen her just days ago, but he lied often. He didn't know of their short history either. There remained little private about Tahira – the entire world practically having fucked her. But those little secrets that she could keep, never mind how insignificant, those were the ones she held tightly too. Only fragments of memories, facts, the ones no one thought to look for in her stupid mind.
Secrets she'd cling to until the day she died. It would be a death more welcoming than the vision that met her now
'Demon', Tahir mouthed from across the deck and Lilura's smile split unnaturally wide. Tahira hurried to clean up the bile not looking up again until the mess, and witch, had finally vanished.
Their arrival felt just as secretive as their departure had been; taking a side road that lead along the outskirts of the city. Only skittering shacks were placed along the small river, which was considerably small compared to the Jordan. The babbling path followed them into Agrabah, speaking to Jasmine in kind as if to drown out the million thoughts ripping at her. The distraction worked until the river split away to leave Jasmine alone with a disturbed mind. And Jafar.
Out the corner of an eye Jasmine watched Jafar and how he remained straight-backed. He appeared alert as ever if not more so despite the fact he'd not slept in two days. It was almost a strength to be fascinated by.
There's no strength in a murderer.
Jasmine chastised herself shaking her head. Cowards murdered. Cowards disregarded the value of life. Cowards took revenge.
Like Sahara…Like Baba.
Her heart weighed down into the pit of her stomach until it physically hurt. Jasmine held it discreetly.
The sphere peaks of the Palace glanced above the trees as the dirt path wound back towards the city. With only a handful of shops, that'd likely closed already, they'd reach the gates with few witnesses. Her heart squeezed at the familiar walls. How could a single month change everything? Annihilate the very concept of what defined home. While Jasmine believed they created those walls to keep her in, she wondered now if it'd been to keep others out. People like Lilura. Jafar.
Lot of good it did. A short laugh caught in her nose and Jafar eyed her.
"Something beguiling to you?"
Her jaw flexed, chest swelling with a ragged breath. His voice made her cringe.
Ten more minutes.
Ten more minutes of freedom.
Eight.
Six.
She couldn't stand it anymore. Jasmine heeled her mare's side then just as suddenly jolted to a halt that thrust her stomach onto the saddle's horn. She couldn't move, not even to turn her neck at the sound of powerful hooves approaching. The black steed pulled in front and Jafar fell into her sight; as did the magic emanating from his palm.
"You're eager to run to your Baba." The word was mocking. "To run to the Irish goat and the friends you think you possess in that palace – but I advise caution with who you trust. More importantly, who you speak to about our marriage."
She couldn't respond if she wanted. He'd never forced magic on her except the first night he'd come into power. Oddly enough, it was another level of betrayal. The last twenty-four hours had made him arrogant, or perhaps he'd become stronger.
He'd done more last night than return Malachi. Didn't he…
"Nothing has changed." His tone carried low but hit like a kick to the jaw. "Our dynamic is and shall remain as it was before Israel. Whatever immunity you thought you obtained is gone." His fingertips rubbed the reigns in his other hand. "You threatened my life this morning. I wanted to kill you for it. I should have."
He could. He'd get little by way of a fight. Death seemed less cruel than life anymore.
Seconds ticked by until the magic evaporated and the handle of the saddle eased out of her side. Jasmine didn't break eye contact though. Instead she stared harder, lips pressed flat against her teeth.
"You chose this. Chose to remain at my side, and pledge allegiance."
I hate him. I hate him!
"And the only way out now, is death."
She wanted to hurt him. To hurt him as deep as he hurt her. Words alone were enough. It may be a shit excuse for one but Jafar had a heart and Jasmine held the ammunition to wound it. The way she did last night – the way her vile words made his face drop.
Allah that look in his eyes was traumatic. During that moment Jasmine had felt his pain. It wrapped around her throat like black chains. Agony. The agony of a little boy who'd heard those same cruel words his entire life. A vulnerability, unshielded, though she knew Jafar tried to shield it.
"You'd have me killed if I run again?" her voice was small.
Jafar didn't respond which was response enough. Jasmine chewed her lip, peering ahead at the path.
"Did you mean any of it? In those caves…"
Traumatic silence accompanied Jafar's callousness. "Haven't you learned by now that words are meaningless. Besides – A man knows exactly what to say to receive an easy fuck."
Jasmine exhaled with a whimper.
Jafar expected cruel retorts. Anger. But not that gut-wrenching breath that told him he'd just twisted the knife in her heart. The mare bolted then, at Jasmine's behest, carrying her far from him.
She'd never get far enough though. Jasmine could reach the end of the world and still never escape the treachery he'd caused. He hated himself. Hated her for how she affected him. Hated this entire fucking city. His mother had it right all along. He shouldn't have been born.
Just one. One memory. A moment. A scent?
What was Sahara's voice like? How did her mouth form when she spoke or laughed? Did she even laugh? Did they play games together? Did she hold her close, even once?
Jasmine never tried before. Not truly, to remember who her mother was. Why that'd been the case Jasmine had given little thought to either. Until this moment, when the thought was all-consuming.
Baba said she reminded him of Sahara. Did he mean physically? Or was there a resembling darkness in Jasmine Hamed picked up on?
"Sahara," the whisper on her lips felt foreign. "Mother," Jasmine tried again, closing her eyes to picture herself as a child.
There appeared only shadows of color in her mind's eye, while each version of a woman Jasmine conjured was a mixture of others, never Sahara herself.
The deeper Jasmine pressed the more her head began to hurt. As if something pressed back. A sharp stinging rang through her head; an aching equivalent to a silver pick being stabbed through an ear.
"Enough already!?" Jasmine snapped smacking Mia's hands away.
The bottled oil dropped, shattering on the patterned floor. Mia was on the verge of tears as she bowed her head, her knees soaking wet from kneeling at the edge of the baths.
Jasmine blinked rapidly, shifting in the water to peer behind her. "Mia forgive me. I'm worn from the journey."
Mia sniffed, apologizing quietly as she picked up the shards coated in a pink liquid.
"My apologies Queen Jasmine. I talk too much. Ramble on so. Everyone says it'll be the death of me." Mia stood; head still bowed as Jasmine peered up apologetically. "I just missed you so much, Your Majesty. Do you prefer to bathe privately tonight?"
Jasmine nodded but Mia was already on her way, the two nearby maids also taking their cue to leave the bathhouse. Mia paused, turning with the glass in her hands.
"Perhaps from now on I'll write down what I mean to say. Then can better gather my thoughts of what matters and what doesn't."
Jasmine was too exhausted physically and emotionally to respond past a small smile. Truthfully Mia's rambling had been unnoticed. Jasmine's head just hurt. Everything hurt. She sunk lower in the water, rolling her neck back on the cold ledge.
"Let's dance little one."
Jasmine's baby hands covered a woman's face, as she was set back on her feet. "Dance as the gypsies' dance," Sultana said in a strange voice. Jasmine followed as best she could, dancing, giggling.
"Dance like the gypsies. Dance Propheteia."
Propheteia… Jasmine's eyes opened painfully. The singular memory just as blurred and unsure as any other. Maybe it'd been real. Her nightmares too felt real. Were they in fact suppressed memories? Or a twisted perversion based on everyone else's opinion of Sahara.
Would people spin lies about Jasmine the same way?
"You think you're such a victim…Aladdin was right. Lilura too. Deceitful like your father and a wicked whore like your mother."
Jasmine hiccoughed a breath, splashing water on her face to forbid anymore tears. But the last twenty-four hours kept replaying.
"You don't know who you are…hiding behind doe eyes when deep down you're really fucked-up."
But Jafar's words remained most prominent.
"Sahara turned her rituals to the purest blood she could find. Yours."
"Hamed murdered in cold blood."
"You ask for truth and snap at the slightest gust of its weight!"
"You're drawn to the blackness… the spitting image of Sahara. If only I'd seen it before, I never would've married you."
Jasmine held her mouth rocking forward with knees pressed to her bare chest. She wanted to cry – scream. But it was hard enough just to breathe. Grief, it was so overwhelming it was all she could feel.
Everything. Everything that defined who she was, perished. Her morals, perception, beliefs, faith. It was stripped from her flesh, leaving a bloody exposed mess.
Where was the justice? The happy ending? Or at most a humane one. God was cruel. Hell was a joke when life alone was so treacherous. All people had a hand in it. They take what they have to, hurt people they swore never to hurt, but they do regardless because the world makes them.
It was barely past midnight when the shock and grief dubbed into something else. The inky black of hate crept in to settle between the skin of her gums and teeth. Like a bacteria it began a gnawing beneath her fingernails. Hatred, Jasmine would discover, was when sanity blurred with madness.
And fuck, did she ever hate.
She hated Jafar most. Despised the silk of his deep voice. The way he smiled. The way he walked. She hated him. Hated Hamed. Hated Agrabah! It burned white hot but the flames wouldn't kill her. It'd be the smoke, the grip of darkness and painstaking asphyxiation.
Her skin felt too tight. The blankets rubbed her raw and she dug her nails into them as payback. Her breath quickened in hot spurts out her nostrils. The more she thought the more she fumed and an unbearable weight crushed her lungs.
Jafar repositioned and she shot him daggers. His silhouette rose and fell peacefully.
How. Dare. He. Sleep?
"Jafar." The room ignored her harsh whisper. "Jafar…" she all but growled and yet he pretended to sleep.
Impetuously, Jasmine turned, pressed bare feet to his back and kicked hard. The heels of her feet dug between Jafar's shoulder blades yet received little else than a grumbled warning. That spurred her more and with another kick Jafar fell off the bed.
Before Jasmine planned a defense attack Jafar sprang up, yanked her by the ankles and pounced on top, pinning her wrist by her ears.
"Unacceptable!" Jafar's teeth bared like a wolf's, ready to skin her alive. She struggled in defiance, almost wishing he would.
Jasmine snapped her teeth at his face and Jafar pinned her throat, pressing a thumb deep into her jugular. The fire didn't leave her eyes, even as fear took hold, breath eluding her too long for comfort. Helplessly Jasmine tried to choke him in return, but he was a fortress.
If Jasmine didn't stop, if she didn't drop this until tomorrow, Jafar might not let go in time.
Jasmine wheezed, drawing in a sacred breath of air when the pressure lifted. (Though his grip remained.)
Jasmine scowled, slackening and tightening her jaw, as if ready to speak. But what was left to say? Her eyes flicked briefly to his mouth, but he saw it. Noted how her lips parted and her large pleading eyes glossed over. Instinctually Jafar tightened around her throat and the softest moan escaped her.
He hardened at the sound. Instantly.
Jafar released her wrist to gather her nightie over her thighs. He expected protest, even if for the show of it, but Jasmine parted her legs, eyes locked with his. Within a breath Jafar sprang free then slid into her velvety walls with a magnificent thrust.
As he ground her into the mattress, they shared silent gasps, Jafar gripping her neck while another fist twisted in the sheets. His body rested so heavily on hers each motion stroked her clit. Jasmine gripped Jafar's shoulders, practically trying to climb him with knees pulled to her chest. Jafar groaned, sliding deeper, hitting harder.
Her quiet moans of pleasure were more erotic than if she'd been screaming his name. It felt secret – a sound made so only he could hear. Only he could create it in her; even when she hated him, she still wanted him. That realization alone rushed blood through him like fire, and he bucked his hips ruthlessly towards the finish.
Jafar didn't care if she came this time; he was ready. As his cock emptied, Jasmine clenched, shuddering in spasms; her mouth covered as if she could hide her orgasm from him.
Fast. Loveless. Always loveless. He could never let himself love her.
The moment passed. Felt desolate between them. She wouldn't look at him. He didn't want to look at her either. Every time Jafar did it reminded him of the guilt he should feel, yet couldn't.
When there is nothing left inside except for death, it becomes easier to snuff out the light in others. But Jafar would make no apologies. For any of it. After all, he wasn't born this way. The world created the monster he was, and therefore the world would continue to pay for it.
Jafar slipped out, then kept again to his side of the bed until he fell asleep.
Jasmine watched the arabesque door knocker resting heavily in place. Her fingers twitched hesitant. She'd snuck away when Jafar fell asleep. Bravery had driven her in the moment...
Should she knock? The door was open anyway – still, it felt primitive not to. Maybe the need was out of instinct. To announce her presence before it was too late to change her mind about entering.
Without consent her body moved of its own volition, dropping the knocker once.
It rang, loudly. Not even the window drapes breathed, despite the open window.
You should go.
Jasmine stepped inside the cavernous room.
Yellow walls were turned heavy brown under the weight of darkness. The room reminded Jasmine of a hole in the ground. A grave, full of dry bones and nothing more. Anxiety pricked the back of her neck; the room was oppressive. Like the declivity of her own existence.
Having abandoned the earth, the night sky was devoid of light. Silence. Not even the stars waged war against the clouds. It felt like a sign.
A shadow bumped along the farthest wall and she froze.
"Hamed?" The words hardly left her trembling tongue. "B-baba?"
Then another creature moved, this time beneath the sheets of a massive bed. Even with unforgiving darkness Jasmine knew the person was too slender to be her father.
She must have the wrong room! Did Razoul have guests in their absence!?
Jasmine eased on the back of her heel towards the exit. A marble figurine stabbed the pad of her foot and she cried out. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth but any noise she'd tried masking became muted on its own as the sheets fell away and a man sat upright.
Baba – though it wasn't Baba at all.
His small eyes were large like the cavities of Israel's olive trees. Only his retained no movement within, no glint of life or noise. The depths of them sunk into his skull, guarded by the walls of bones in his face. Bone.
That's nearly all he was anymore. The moon needn't reflect to show the carnage of his appearance. He was death with a beating heart.
"B-ba." Jasmine cleared her throat holding it with a trembling hand. "Baba?"
He didn't see her though. He watched the door in the distance. Jasmine followed its path of yellow light which cut like a rectangle across numerous rugs. Their colors looked haunting in the muted light.
"I will get you someone, father." Jasmine kept a firm eye on the shapes beneath her feet and the damn little figurine it harbored. "I'll get your maidens. Doctor Tabiib."
"Why don't you come back?"
The room spun the faster she breathed. She needed to hold something to stay upright.
"You want me to come back?" She eased around careful not to fall as the room turned. "I'll come back Baba. I am back…"
"Why don't you come back to me?"
Like the ocean calls a ship so did her father's voice call her. While raspy with a quiver at the end, Jasmine heard detected her Baba's sweetness. The way he used to speak. It was a tune she didn't know she needed until that moment.
"I'm here Baba," Jasmine's thighs found the edge of the bed and Hamed's wrinkled hand drifted absently towards her.
"Why don't you come back?"
"I'm back father. I'm back. See?" Her hands slipped in his one. Hamed was neither cold or clammy with fever – but it felt strange. Upsetting. Jasmine dropped to her knees and tried to rub familiarity into their shared touch.
He had spots on his hand…veins ribbed beneath her thumb as she smoothed them. When she glanced up Hamed's black eyes were already watching.
"Why don't you come back to me, Sahara?"
It no longer sounded like her Baba. Her heart skipped at the faint footsteps of the hallway but no one entered the room.
"Come back to me, Sahara."
Sahara? Her gut clenched in spasms, color draining from her lips. "It's me baba. Your daughter – Jasmine."
His mouth, widened by sagging loose skin, twisted down.
"Baba it's Jasmine. See – feel my face?" She brushed her lips quickly over back his hand. "My kiss, Baba. Remember?"
Jasmine smiled relieved when Hamed's head tilted; but then he crooned, "Why didn't you come to me, Sahara? I called your name."
"I'm your daughter." Jasmine stiffened, knees giving out before she could try and stand.
"I don't have a daughter." Hamed wheezed and suddenly his grip was too tight, too aware on her hands.
"Baba, let go please." Jasmine pulled timidly at first, then gasped, "Baba let go. Baba your hurting me!"
Hamed ripped Jasmine by the back of the hair.
"You hurt me! Hurt your mother! Because of you she's gone. She's gone! You killed her! She killed the Sultana!"
He screeched for the guards then Jasmine hit the ground. Hands flung over Hamed's body pinning and strapping him to the bed. Doctor Tabiib rushed in, still in pajamas, and covered Hamed's screeching mouth with a cloth. An instant later Hamed was out cold.
The sconces on the bedside walls were lit, but Jasmine wished to remain in the dark. In the dark the man could've been anyone. The light made it real. Seeing his white hair, his stubby fingers and small mouth meant she couldn't pretend it away. Couldn't re-imagine another faceless assaulter.
Baba.
Servants adjusted Hamed's covers and pillows while shock overthrew Jasmine's nervous system. She shook, her teeth clattering together despite how hard she bit down.
"My Queen, allow me. Are you hurt? Your Highness –" Tabiib eased Jasmine to her feet keeping a hold on her arms. She shoved away causing herself to stumble and Tabiib to reach out again. "You should lie down. Have some tea and I can share what's been happening."
But the offer felt like a threat. Another deception of safety to ensnare her. Jasmine staggered backwards, then fled from the prying eyes.
Jasmine sprinted through the hall crashing into her handmaiden. It knocked the wind from them both, Mia wide eyed and afraid. Jasmine shoved her away too and kept running. Jasmine ran until she was lost within parts of the palace she'd never seen. Bare feet hit the ground harder though, racing blindly until fate guided her down a narrow passageway. Jasmine darted to its end, clashing into the doors before throwing them open and barricading inside. She put the latch in place and slunk along a wall of shelves to gather in a far corner. It was dank and black. Jasmine pressed into a tight ball on the floor, willing the shadows to hide her forever.
The winter months drew to an end before there was time to miss them, while the mark of a full year crept ever closer. Nearly nine months ago Jafar had come to power and yet the occasion still unequivocally bled like a raw wound beneath a scab.
She'd changed. Curious how it didn't happen overnight. There was no lever pulled to magically open a door and alter everything. Rather change festered little by little, days, hours. Moments that painstakingly happened without being noticed.
Change was unremarkable until it'd already taken place; when the world before could hardly be remembered as it once was and she couldn't recall the person she'd once been.
Jasmine was nearly seventeen, yet her reflection carried burdens of years beyond that. The little girl months prior felt like a phantom. Jasmine doubted she ever existed at all.
Jasmine touched her skin tentatively to make sure it was even her. It was.
Beneath her fingertips Jasmine traced the faintest scar on her lip. It's where Jafar's cobra staff struck when he'd been aiming for Aladdin's neck. She'd been protecting Aladdin. She'd have done anything for love. For a chance to have the love Hamed always spoke about.
A love she now knew was a lie. Maybe all love was.
"Dear Queen?" Mia bowed irrefutably before the boudoir door had a chance to fully open. "The Sultan requests her Majesty be in attendance to tonight's banquet."
Jasmine's gaze listed to Mia's reflection in the bottom of the vanity mirror, then looked again at her own self. Jasmine's neck was long and she traced it the way she'd traced her lips. Was Sahara's neck long too? Did the poison burn through her neck? Did she suffer, or was it quick?
"Does Her Majesty request my services…or other maidens if mine are not adequate for the evenings preparations? Amira or Kesi are very well with hair. Better than I am I suppose. A better handmaiden they would make…" Mia's vocals wavered like the wing of an infant bird – Jasmine only heard noise. "B-beg your pardon Queen Jasmine. The Sultan made it clear the Queen not be late this time."
"There's hours left still. I'll be along. Depart from me, please." Jasmine spoke over a shoulder, waiting for the door to close shut before catching another glimpse of herself in the vanity.
This time she traced the oval glass, reimagining, in futility, that it was her mother she spoke to now.
"I have so many questions for you." Maybe she was going mad… any third party would conclude as much. "Questions for both of you."
Her eyes shut with a gust of breath as she thought next of Hamed. More accurately, of the night he'd gone insane. It had stricken powerfully though her core. Like a hole being blasted it'd left a void so vast nothing would fill it again. She hadn't visited him since.
Jasmine glanced down at the open Jewelry box; then slapped it shut. She'd get ready later.
"Queen Jasmine! Another one. I got another!"
A boy about her age spurt through the servants' doors out into the garden where Jasmine waited anxiously. He spoke in broken Arabic laced with his native Egyptian tongue. Seti was one the many gifts Jafar received lately. The boy was the favorite servant of an Ottoman statesman (a Governor in a province of Egypt Jasmine failed to recall.) Jafar cared little about Seti, but Jasmine found he was the only one she trusted in the palace. Besides, he eagerly partook in her errands.
"I get to see beautiful city. Beautiful colors. Food. People. Girls and boys." He smiled with a row of crowded teeth. A smile that made her heart feel a twinge of warmth again.
Seti looked around then pulled back the sheepskin cloth to reveal his recent finding before cloaking it again.
"You're a faithful servant Seti. Thank you for being so quick."
"Four days. Four is all." He bounced up and down before rocking side to side again. "Anything you ask I will do." Seti pulled free a thin dagger barely larger than the bone of a quail feather. "I will give my life Queen Jasmine, if you ask it."
"N-n-n-n-no no!" Jasmine rushed snatching the knife first then the package. "Why don't you help yourself to a long bath and Geraldine's scones and muffins?"
"Oh Queen, I give many thanks. Many thanks to you," he bowed, took a step back, thanked her again, before bowing and stepping back. Jasmine allowed four more before she finally had to tell him to stop. After Seti slipped back through the servant entrance a laugh caught in her throat, then turned into a dry cough in her hand.
Jasmine tucked the rectangle in her arms, mindful of Seti's little weapon as she strolled casually among the blooming flowers. Red poppies – or white Jasmine's – were budding. She didn't pay much attention though.
"Your Majesty." Razoul's stentorian appearance thundered as he beelined from the marble stairs around the corner. Jasmine hid both hands behind her back.
"Your Majesty. Dear Sultana. Sultan Jafar is searching for you," he stretched the word, "Again..."
She pulled a faux smile. "Clearly the Sultan hasn't been looking hard enough considering I've been in the gardens the entire evening."
Razoul eyes the landscape as if it'd prove her alibi. Jasmine set her chin disliking how arrogant he'd become in recent weeks. Razoul continued haughtily.
"He has all staff, myself included, searching the grounds for you."
"Then that makes their efforts that much more pathetic. Here." Jasmine handed over the petite glass knife. "This belongs to Geraldine. See she receive it?"
Razoul blinked with a frown. Servants were no longer permitted weapons within the palace. Precisely why she didn't use Seti's name. Razoul still had a soft spot for Geraldine, and she would certainly give it back to Seti. (The boy easily won over hearts.)
"Of course, Your Majesty. Might I ask why you have it? Why you're not getting ready in the first place."
Her demeanor dropped. "No, you may not. You may do as I asked and keep to what you're best known for." She stepped past. "Sucking up to my husband."
A smirk pulled at her lips knowing it flustered Razoul. But in seriousness, she wasn't the only one growing tired of the man's behavior; and Jafar would do far worse than antagonize to send a message.
At the end of the northern corridor, on the fourth level, the library sat self-importantly. Engraved arches outlined the double doors, reaching heights ten times hers in size. The entrance stood out beautifully, even if Jasmine, and most staff, had seemingly forgotten of its prior existence.
Dust collected everywhere due to lack of maintenance over the years. Which proved truest in the high corners where spider webs were visible, woven loosely around books, dirtied shelves, and ladders. Scattered lanterns hung from braided cords embedded into the ceiling. They remained unlit even with fleeting moments of sunlight left. Jasmine preferred the fireplace anyway, which permitted enough light to reach past the few tables and inglenook.
As Jasmine stepped inside, a lone spider scurried over the floor crossing into the dark portion of the room.
Eww.
Maybe she would reconsider having the lanterns lit after all. She preferred this to remain a place of solitude, but in time servants would need to tend to it. The library had quickly become her favorite room and deserved a rebirth.
At the entrance were multiple tables of varying sizes and shapes. Currently, two were piled with stacks of tomes and scrolls. Jasmine plucked one book from it, while keeping the one Seti brought, and began reading as she walked idly. A towering window harbored a cozy alcove beside the fireplace. Jasmine kicked off her slippers and curled up in its haven.
With the turn of each fragile page came sweet smells; notes of vanilla flowers and almonds. A scent which Jasmine figured occurred with the breakdown of old paper. That too was becoming one of her favorites.
If only the topics she'd been researching were as comforting.
Most her research concerned spells to absolve issues such as: tooth aches, the bleeding of a woman, or nose, scabies, warts, and or sore ends of fingers. Others passages found were scratched in foreign languages or otherwise ineligible, with strange symbols and markings.
Each manuscript had proven less useful than the last and tonight's read was no different.
Jasmine tossed the first book aside exasperated. The fire was dimming; she'd likely spent over an hour already. She wouldn't have energy for the second tonight. Jasmine hovered her hands over the goatskin cloth it was wrapped in. Jasmine's fingers tingled. Maybe it was nervous optimism that twisted her nerves each time she opened a book. She didn't want to be disappointed yet again. Likewise, Jasmine wasn't sure she even wanted to find real magic.
Nothing can undo what's been done. She heard Jafar's voice repeat on a loop the same way it had for months on end.
No one can undo it. "Or, rather no one is willing to."
No one would fix her father's health. Which she needed done, for more than one reason. Jasmine shifted straighter to un-swaddle the booklet and flipped through hastily when something caught her eye.
'Speak with Spirits.'
Jasmine chewed the side of her cheek swinging her feet to settle back on the floor. It was in Latin – and possibly Greek. Some parts were written in Arabic. It was chaos! But she could understand hints of what was said. It was the first entry that may be useful.
"Queen Jasmine!"
The book fumbled as Jasmine shot up. Mia's cry rang louder than high heaven, even as she tried to 'whisper'. By the third shriek Jasmine flung the doors open and pulled Mia inside.
"You'll wake the dead, Mia, honestly." The latch dropped heavily back in place. "I thought I made perfectly clear no one else is to know I'm in here."
Mia rose on her toes, "I did whisper. Oh goodness, Her Majesty is cross with me. Forgive me. Please." Mia bowed frantically and Jasmine pulled a face.
What was it with the servants lately? She wasn't Jafar, for Allah's sake.
"Stop bobbing your head. You look like an Ostrich gone mad." Jasmine chided.
Then again, you have picked up thicker skin.
Jasmine forced a contrite smile but it made Mia wince.
"Then, her Majesty is not angry?"
Jasmine would have to try harder. "Of course not." She forced her shoulders to relax and turned to rewrap the faceless book before tucking it carefully away. "Just – these floors tend to echo. It wouldn't seem proper for a Queen's Handmaiden to shout."
Mia dipped her knees, springing up with a timid smile. "Of course. I beg your forgiveness. I get so nervous in parts of the palace. Geraldine is always snapping at me for doing so. I'd rather spend more time at your side Your Majesty. Perhaps then I'd feel less frightened of getting lost."
In any other instance Jasmine would've kept Mia in tow more often. But things were different. She didn't want friends anymore – people who got too close always ended up leaving. Or betraying her.
"Don't be silly – you know the palace is perfectly safe."
Jasmine went around to unfasten and retie the strings of Mia's waist skirt.
"And never mind the Irish woman." Her voice drifted, "She's sour ever since I returned from Israel. Besides, you serve me well, Mia." Jasmine stepped forward again with hands sensibly clasped. "Now. What on earth were you shouting my name for?"
Mia's face fell in remembrance and Jasmine's followed suit.
"Dinner!"
"Dinner!"
"Hair – the hair."
"Earrings, your Grace. Earrings!"
"Kesi, the sash!"
Four pairs of hands fumbled over Jasmine's body, scrambling clumsily to piece her together as she sprinted. Her agile feet pattered down the main staircase then planted flat at the doorway of the Great Hall. It gave Mia time to drape a necklace around jasmine's neck before stepping away. If the two doorman had an opinion regarding jasmine's punctuality, they hid it well. The doors opened ceremoniously, and those seated rose to attention. Jafar rose last, clearly vexed despite how magnificently he smiled. It was a fake smile – Jasmine recognized the difference. A fact that made her feel...well…what more should she feel other than hatred?
"May I produce, Her Majesty. Queen of Agrabah – the Charmer of Beasts, an Enchantress of Mankind–."
Razoul's soliloquy forced her lips to tighten. She'd heard those names about herself daily since returning from Israel. Before then, only one person had called her that – a beggar in the streets – now it was what all referred her as.
Jafar had called it incentivizing. Therefore, Jasmine despised it more.
"Eh-hem." An older gentleman, a captain Jasmine met twice before, whispered from the table's end. "Your Majesty, might I inquire your bare feet?"
Jasmine blushed suddenly aware of the cold marble beneath her toes. She squished them together. The man waggled his bare eyebrows.
"Don't worry. No one else will notice."
Jasmine smiled faintly and hurried – while tenaciously graceful – to stand beside Jafar. Mia stood against the far wall near Seti. The pair shared a demure smile before looking down respectfully.
"You are late." Jafar whispered with a chaste kiss to the hand. He crunched her fingers when she tried to pull away.
"Queen Jasmine and Myself welcome The King of Naples and his court as a sign of peace and well intent."
The King he spoke of raised his cup in cheers but any words he'd had were drowned with wine. Even his translator looked embarrassed and offered an apologetic smile. Together Agrabah's Rulers sat, and the rest of their company followed suit, continuing in chatter as the meal was served.
"You're wearing the necklace."
Jasmine flinched taken off guard by the rasp of his voice. Was she wearing a necklace? "I have a lot of necklaces. None are sentimental if that's what you're asking."
"Hmm." The sound was of annoyed discernment.
The King, who was called Alfonso, Jafar, and the translator, into a conversation while Jasmine hurried to touch the piece around her neck. It was a delicate chain, gold likely, with a pendant that felt like smooth stone. Jafar sat upright and she dropped the pendant to look pointedly at her plate.
The cuisine was foreign to accommodate their guests. It smelled as bad as it looked and Jasmine vied for tea instead.
"I wasn't sure you'd received it." Again his voice startled her and the tea slipped over as she jolted. He continued uncharacteristically soft. "I'd worried it hadn't made it to you," he glanced blackly at Mia then back again. "I'm delighted to see it was."
"I hadn't noticed." Jasmine leveled. "A servant girl picked my jewelry tonight." With a nervous chortle she added, "I don't even know what color it is."
She meant to say thank you. Or to even look at the damn thing out of courtesy; but neither happened and she buried her nose in her cup to avoid Jafar's piercing stare. Soon Alfonso required Jafar's attention and Jasmine was able to survive the dinner party more or less invisible.
Few conversation pieces were of importance to Jasmine: Sicily contested between French and Spanish dynasties. The woman beside her, Princess Maria was an old maid and Alfonso's sister. Jokingly the King questioned whether Jafar was inclined to take another wife; though Jasmine didn't laugh. The most substantial detail however was that the King would remain a fortnight to sign a treaty of allegiance and a trading route. There were also aforementioned plans of an army, before the topic fizzled quickly.
Fleetingly Jasmine wondered what Alfsono would be getting in return, but it left little to the imagination – a bargain, no doubt of a malicious and magical nature.
Jasmine tried not to care how Jafar conducted business. Or why the hell they needed an army in the first place. Agrabah never had use of a military. With her tea finished she drank next a cup of coffee; it helped ease the growl of her stomach.
After another bout of wine, the King's humor turned hardly apposite. Then again Jasmine didn't know when conversing about mass slaughter would ever be humorous. The man clearly lived in a world of his own design – which meant he and Jafar would undeniably develop an analogous relationship. Meanwhile, Princess Maria proved garrulous, not only about the daily life in the castle, but the world as she saw it. Jasmine struggled to block out her adenoidal bickering.
"Esteemed Majesties of Naples,"
"Oh thank God," Jasmine breathed when Maria was forced silent.
"Lords, Ladies, Governors and Captain," Razoul droned in a fashion she assumed he'd learned from watching Jafar. "Please follow me to the ballroom, for entertainment and Arabian delectations."
Delectations? Jasmine rolled her eyes with a snort that went unheard over the jubilance of their departing guests. Razoul had never used that word in his life, or that voice.
The Great Hall emptied and Jasmine kept herself small, hoping to avoid further conversation with Maria as they walked. Ten dozen people could fit comfortably in the hallway, yet the twelve it held now felt suffocating. Jasmine was thankful Jafar allowed the both of them to remain in back; even if it meant they walked side by side.
"I'd ask what you were thinking; then again I already know."
Maybe his powers of perception could be used to leave her alone. Indefinitely.
"You're too emotional. It wears like a handprint across your face." Jasmine prickled at the analogy. Jafar continued. "It's one of your greatest weaknesses. You could be a remarkable Queen…little Charmer of beasts."
He wore the words smugly and she shot a contenting look.
"Nevertheless, you'll not survive enemies when every thought, every tug of your heart, is screaming for their attention."
Jasmine pulled a face as if plagued by sudden information she'd otherwise not known. "Here's something. I read recently that there was a King who didn't speak unless it was of utmost value to do so. He would go day if not weeks at a time in silence.
Jafar cleared his throat drawing back his shoulders. Jasmine shrugged.
"Perhaps its why he had a happy union with his Queen. Why his enemies were far and few."
He gripped beneath her arm bringing them to a standstill. Jafar watched as the crowd piled into the ballroom some feet away. The room was flooded with light and music, but all Jasmine noticed were the antechambers that lead to Hamed's room.
Jasmine focused on the buttons of Jafar's thobe to keep from growing dizzy. Soon the ruckus laughter quieted behind closed doors and Jasmine found she could breathe more easily.
"I need to know if I can trust you, Jasmine." Jafar squeezed her arm and she looked up as if just noticing him. "Are you alright?"
Again his gentleness was upsetting and she hesitated. "Fine… I prefer to return to my boudoir for the night. If it's all the same to you."
"It's not. And you won't."
"I'm unwell." She insisted then drew a sharp breath as he erased the distance with a raised hand. Jafar's forearm pressed against her forehead, but his eyes had turned sharp at seeing her flinch.
"You think I meant you harm?"
"You've struck me before."
"Across your backside."
"…Strangled me."
The words themselves were strangled but forceful enough that Jafar dropped his touch.
"Yes well…" he cleared his throat. "I haven't always behaved in a way one might prefer."
Jasmine's brows tucked in a bemused frown as she gathered her arms around her midsection.
Jafar tugged the hem of his thobe, "Unpleasantness aside. I require your transparency and loyalty."
What?
Jafar clicked his tongue then grabbed her hand and lead them far away from the ballroom – past the Great Hall, Throne Room, several guests' rooms and offices, then took a left. The polished floors were doused in candlelight and echoed Jafar's prominent steps as they approached an exit. The massive archway would lead them outdoors to a path that continued beneath a covered walkway.
Jafar stepped unhurriedly but his large strides forced Jasmine to practically jog. When Jafar noticed he slowed considerably and released her petite hand. He missed the feel of her already.
"We'll speak as we walk then." Jafar bit briskly. Guards were standing nearby, but remained out of earshot.
Jasmine wheezed. "I said… I'm unwell." Damn she was really out of shape. Maybe a walk would behoove her after all.
"Then we'll speak in our chambers."
"No," Jasmine's arm stiffened like a pole between their bodies. "A brief walk. Then I return to my boudoir. Agreed?"
The veranda was Jafar's favorite structure of the palace. It allowed him to remain guarded while still immersing himself outdoors (given it was warm). Intrinsically etched pillars lined the path every few feet while vines climbed up them in precision. An unwarranted grin pulled at the corner of his beard as he they walked. Nightfall was considerably cooler and so thrived more fervently than the daytime. Greenery blossomed all around – shrubs, trees, flowers – while varying birds and insects hummed across the palace grounds.
Jasmine should be full of joy out here. One glance her direction told Jafar otherwise. It strangely made him uncomfortable to see her frown, even out here.
He could stand the silence no longer. In a detached manner he said, "I've intended to speak with you for some time, only my schedule has quelled such obligations. I asked if you were trustworthy. If, all incidents considered, there remains an unwavering fidelity between us."
"Remains?"
Of all the pigheaded – "You made clear months ago that nothing in Israel was genuine between us. That we were resuming where we left off nearly a year ago."
"I know what I said." His Gait slowed to a stop. "You were grieving. For your safety, I pushed you away. I'm the last person you should cling to during that process
Process. As if it had an end.
"Enough..."
Jafar drew straight, unsmiling.
"Jafar you're not some hero in my life. Not when I was a child and certainly not now." Jasmine pushed on her diaphragm to keep the anger in. "And any walls you added between us that day were to protect yourself. You know what – I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear another word from you or anyone in that palace, because people like you, my father, Razoul, are deceptive manipulators." Her dress scrunched in both fists in emphasis. "You're a fraud. And it's me who can't trust any one of you!"
She banked right to cut the shrubbery that stumbled onto a garden path. It was canopied solely by large winding trees and wound in a maze of large bushes. Unlike the walkway there weren't lanterns and Jafar listened to her feet slap the stones before whispering a curse as she tripped.
"Why must she make everything more difficult." He stated impassively.
She was also barefoot.
He should've scolded her at dinner for it. He'd been too distracted by her wearing his necklace to do so.
And you're a goddamn idiot to have even given it to her in the first place.
He rubbed his jaw with his knuckles, pondering if it were best to leave her out there.
Five minutes passed in the maze before Jasmine rested. She scraped the soles of her feet back and forth over the smooth stones of the fallow path. She'd not been in this part of the palace grounds for years. No one had apparently. The marble bench she sat on now was smaller than she remembered. Baba fit here with her once before and they had watched hatchlings in the trees overhead. "Mama birds leave their babies – but don't worry. They come back. See dearest?"
Her eyes opened to the dark. The memory faded. Jasmine could no longer recall the melodies of those birds. Or the way Baba played with her in the trees. Or what he looked like when he was still happy. When he was him. When the world was innocent and nothing was more than what it appeared.
Simple.
Jasmine felt rather than heard Jafar's presence. Apparently he was adept to seeing in the dark – unlike her. He was like a damn tiger, sneaking up without warning. It was his scent that'd given him away. She didn't look up. Her feet swung back and forth. Side to side, scraping gently over the stones.
"The flowers blossomed rather vibrantly this year."
Back and forth. Side to side.
"Their perfumes so strong it floods our chambers each night from the windows." Again he said ours; as if Jasmine hadn't been absent from them all season.
"I don't smell anything." Her tone was deflated.
Jasmine unfolded her hands to reveal a flower she'd plucked. The petals were warped from the sweat of her hand, still she rubbed a thumb over it as if unmarred. Jafar watched for a long while – he didn't care, so long as he could look at her.
"How do you do it. . . . With all the bad you've done. . . . How?" Her chest hitched with a croak. "How can you live with yourself?"
Her rounded eyes were pitiful; it was like he stared at the ghost of a little Princess he'd known a lifetime ago. The apples of her cheeks were colored as if she'd been crying but he saw no tears. Only blank, beautiful brown eyes, that sought answers he didn't possess.
It would be easy to hold her. Easier to crush her.
"Nothing?" She scoffed and it jolted her narrow shoulders beneath her dress. It flowed like milk over her form, blushing against the ground. In the moonlight she looked otherworldly; though Jafar couldn't decide which of the two worlds she stood between anymore.
"Anything I've ever done is bred of necessity, Jasmine. I'll make no apologies, no attempt to feel remorse because only a man in the wrong feels remorse."
"Even when he is wrong?" the flower folded in her fist and Jafar took a step in, a glint in his eyes.
"It can be a challenge to come to grips with the evil that is in this world. But I didn't come out here to discuss Hamed. Another night perhaps," he grinned self-assured, "But not tonight."
The hairs on her neck stiffened. "Your egotistical callousness is far from charming anymore."
"You find me charming?" Jafar smiled coyly striking unwarranted warmth in her chest.
She rose, double fisted. "I asked to be left alone – I requested solace from your company and nothing more."
"Which I've tolerated, for months." Jafar's canines flashed though he remained outwardly calm. "An absence of which no other man would permit a wife."
Ah. That's what he needs from me.
Jasmine swayed her hips as she moved in. "Because men have needs only a woman can fill? You need to lie between a pair of thighs, Jafar?" Seductively cruel Jasmine breathed against his mouth, "You'd have better luck with those whores you were used to fucking. Because you'll never touch me again."
Jafar jolted forward and it knocked her on her heels. His neck corded with prominent veins and Jasmine flinched. The back of Jafar's teeth ground loudly; swallowing the explosion she knew was on his tongue. If red were an emotion it would mean recklessly impassioned; Jafar was red. His thin fingers flexed into a fist.
A ring glinted from his hand, a red jewel so dark it looked nearly black. She waited for it to strike her face when Jafar abruptly distanced himself then gathered his body in a tight line. She learned that the moments when Jafar looked most composed was when a hurricane teemed on the inside.
"Do you still want to kill me?" Stupid question, Jasmine.
His truncated tone clipped, albeit smooth as honey "I want . . . To fucking hurt you."
It produced a frisson of appeal. Then shame. "Is that what you did to Henrietta?"
Jafar's cheek ticked beneath his beard. It'd grown nicely full.
"I know you tortured Ettie and that's why she left. You cut her... Didn't you? Because of Sahara."
"Where did–"
"Secrets don't die out. And you're hardly the only one in that palace who's kept them."
His stare grew fevered, and she knew he was plotting ways to make their staff suffer.
"They say it's because you loved her. Loved them both." It was hardly what mattered – still it mattered to Jasmine. "What other motive would you have to avenge Sahara, if you didn't love her?"
Jafar tilted his head with a disdained sneer, tacitly encouraging her to shut up.
Exasperated she added, "You wanted to talk, so talk. Did you love my mother?"
"Define love."
Her lips pursed. "Henrietta?"
"In my own way..."
It stung for some godforsaken reason. "What way was that?"
"My own."
"That's not an answer."
"It is. Just not the one you want."
They each stilled squaring off beneath the moonlit shadows.
"What exactly am I being accused of doing?" His aggravation was mounting, "Loving, or causing chaos?"
"There's hardly a difference to a man like you."
"Man like me?" The inquiry made her blood cold. "Or a man like Hamed."
Jasmine surrendered, dropping her hands and the flower. Jafar would always win. What was the reward anyway? He'd die eventually. Like Hamed. Like herself. And all that would remain of anything were stories that other told: rewritten and misshapen into more lies. More deceit. More secrets.
Mutedly Jasmine picked up on the path again with as hurried a gait as possible. She stumbled twice, stubbing her toes along the way but eventually found lush grass and open space. Jasmine closed her eyes to focus her breathing.
"Your Majesty, Queen Jasmine."
Jasmine peeked from her lashes then dropped her jaw as she faced the terrace feet ahead of her. The new captain of the Palace Guard was at the end of the steps with a broad smile. He peered expectantly around and said something Jasmine failed to hear.
The balcony columns were dressed with sheer fabric and long stemmed flowers. Lanterns with colored glass panels, doused the space in romantic violet and blue lights. The usual outdoor cushioned chairs were tucked in a nearby corner, with wine and candles on its partnered table. And at the center was the familiar table, however now it was draped lovingly with a cloth and decorated with the most delicious foods.
There were only two seats provided. Jasmine's eyes watered with anger, then longing. She held her chest as if it could staunch the pressure building in her heart. The Guard stepped aside and became entirely forgotten when Jafar approached, marching past in long strides.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out as Jafar strode up the handful of steps. Jasmine cleared her head with a shake and hurried to respond. (Even if words failed her.)
"Wha – why. Is. All. – I'm not. Jafar?" The scent of her favorite foods plumed in her face as she landed on the terrace. Her stomach gave a traitorous lurch to the buffet. "Jafar, what is this?"
"A mistake." he grimaced at the approaching servants which sent them scattering with one look.
Jasmine stopped beside the table peering after him indignantly. "What am I supposed to say, Jafar?"
He kept walking.
Her heart raced anxious for the right words. "I won't choose between the two of you!"
He slowed, then stopped, already in the shadows of an adjoining room.
"If you're wanting me to choose between you or my father – you'll lose. Always."
Jafar's shoulders rolled. With precision he turned and folded an arm behind him as the other animated his eloquent dictation.
"Does it never tire you, child, to be self-righteous at all times? Pinning, in some form or another, as if your moral compass is the constituent that's been missing from the world – a world that's thrived for eons without you. "
Jasmine peered from the tops of her lids. The backs of her arms were chilled now, the night air turning crisp. "I did ask to return to my boudoir . . ."
He gave an uncomplicated nod as if agreeing.
Jasmine pulled on her middle finger, elbows rising with nervous tension as crickets rubbed the silence raw. "It is beautiful," she rushed to add, "Except . . . I wouldn't have eaten it anyway."
Jafar looked her over judgmentally, and she knew what he saw. She had thinned quite significantly. The Sicilian meal wasn't the first she'd refused. At most she ate bread with her tea. Even that she typically insisted to make herself.
"Do you –" he shifted his stance, blinking. "Jasmine, are you afraid you'll be poisoned?"
She flinched, insulted. He made her sound impractical. "The last sultana was."
Jafar's expression fell. "Not. By. Me."
"Because you loved her?" Jasmine accused, unabashed. "Or because Hamed beat you to it?"
Jafar's jaw rolled then snapped into a sardonic sneer. He erased the distance with one step then casually dipped a pointer finger into a bowl beside them. In a smooth motion Jafar gathered a dollop of cream, smeared it across Jasmine's neck and licked it clean.
God-Fuck!
Jafar tugged her head back by the hair then slipped his cream coated tongue into her mouth, sharing the chocolate mousse in a languid kiss. He pulled away leaving her dizzy.
"Mmm," he wound her hair tighter. "I didn't taste poison."
Moisture pooled between her thighs. "You're poison."
"You mean addictive."
Jafar slid a powerful hand over her backside and her eyes fluttered.
"Want another taste, Pussycat?"
"Don't call me that anymore."
"You prefer Mouse?"
"Call me Nothing. That's all I've ever been to you."
A curt breath escaped his nostrils. His fingers slipped from her curls to finger the sticky trail left across her neck. His pink tongue flicked over his lips and it made hers run dry.
"I'll not be seduced into forgiving you –."
Swiftly Jafar bent to inhale her lips, then drew a line with his nose up to her ear and let out a low hum that rocked her to the core.
"But you already have. Haven't you, love."
Jasmine leaned into his words.
"It's what you despise most about me – that I stir something inside you. It's what makes you forgive me; when you can't forgive your own father." Jafar bit the flesh of her neck and she gasped with equally wanton repulsion.
Jafar practically shoved her away, causing her to stumble at the departure. Then added, "Here's something." Jafar smugly mimicked her earlier annotation. "The only thing I have ever loved is power. And the taste of a woman – although," His eyes wandered brazenly over her body, "of all the beautiful women I've had, you're by far the most exquisite."
His footsteps carried heavily inside the palace. She counted them, one, four, ten, before collapsing into a nearby seat. Her knees bounced as she ran clammy palms over the fabric of her gown.
I hate him. I hate him.
Jasmine glanced, then shoved the bowl of cream to shatter on the floor.
Trembling, Jasmine touched her sensitive neck, retracing the mark his tongue had left. And it felt as if he were licking her again; his mouth, his intoxicating scent rupturing her soul. Her fingers stumbled over the necklace and her breath hitched. She looked down at it for the first time and water gathered behind her eyes.
A crystal – from the caves in Israel.
Hate him Jasmine - You haven't even forgiven your own father! Jafar's a pig! Hate. Please.
She wanted to. That anger was all she had anymore. Without it…
Jasmine clenched the crystal, covering her face with the other hand. She refused to come undone.