Mozenrath paced the room the next evening like a trapped panther, ignoring it all as he thought. Shortly after the hero had left, a covered tray was pushed under the door. He opened it gingerly and was rewarded with a cacophony of scents. Herb roasted chicken and oven fresh bread, fresh apples and pears cut up for him and a bottle of spiced brandy wine. He took the tray to the bedside and tested it with his senses, deciding there was no drug to make him more pleasant.

He began with the manacles, using a range of spells from simple unlocking shocks to actually attacking the metal with energy till his wrists burned from the backlash. He had been doing this every moment he had alone since trapped here, varying the spells he used, changing the order or level of power he used. 'Every lock has a key, every spell a counter spell.' Even anti-magic manacles were nothing more than a reflective spell encased in iron. Simple, but brilliant since it turned every spell you used against it's caster. Pity he'd been so arrogant as to assume no one else would figure out how he created them. If his ego hadn't gotten in the way he might have taken time to counter act it.

He munched as he worked and thought of attacking the holding spells that kept him confined to palace grounds. He was confident he could break those, but the iron round his wrists would give him away anywhere he went. He had discovered the emblem of Agrabah on the underside of them, marking him as a slave to be returned if found. It was pissing him off how they thought of everything.

Of course if he could make it back to his laboratory, that might not be a difficulty. He had a hundred different shielding mechanisms to guard and protect his workings from prying eyes. They might just be heavy enough to make one ignore the little scent of magic the shackles gave off.

'Of course that presents another problem' He scowled. No, the Citadel lab would be the first place they would look for him.

At least now he had a list. One: The spell confining him to the palace would need to be removed or altered Two: If the shackles couldn't be removed, they needed to be cloaked. Three: His hideout would need to have heavy magical boundaries. And Four: It would need to be the last place Aladdin and his princess would think of looking.

A thought came to Mozenrath and he cringed. The answer was abysmally simple, disgustingly easy, and above all a last resort. He knew a place alright, in fact in an ideal situation there could be no better escape route. Too bad it entailed asking his mother for help.

He could just imagine Mirage's face when he showed up in Morbia. Naked with the faint smell of sex on his body, the shackles making it oh so obvious that he'd been captured. He shuddered and decided to avoid that unless he had no alternative. He walked over to the curtains that blocked him from the rest of the world, gently probing as far as he could without alerting the anti-magic defenses. The wall was as solid magically as it was mundanely. Each brick had been laced with potent iron wires, the one thing that made magic recoil. Gold, silver, steel, copper, anything else could hold energy, but iron was impossible to infuse with power.

Mozenrath grabbed the load of bread and tore off a piece viciously, trying to figure something out. He did the same with the floor and ceiling, and was rewarded with the same result. Finally he turned his head to the display board, gingerly, he reached out and touched on of the toys there, getting a rush through his skin as he did so. He took a closer look, it was a harness of sorts, showing one very well endowed replica of a man's penis, as well as two smaller ones placed on the inside. With a blush he realized this was meant for a woman to penetrate with.

A second later he released who it had to have been used on. He was sure he was the only other to be in this room besides Aladdin and Jasmine. That could only mean the hero enjoyed… Mozenrath shook himself and tried to make the sudden image subside. Oh but that would be delicious revenge. Making the hero bow to him, using that strong, tanned body for his own pleasures. Not now though. Escape now, revenge later.

Besides, compared to Destain, Aladdin and his wife were a saint. Destain had been cold and hard against him, forcing his face into the pillow as that half flaccid worm of a penis forced it's way in. He had been ripped and torn inside, a place meant for pleasure subjected to pain and torture. Aladdin at least had been careful, stretching his body, softly preparing it. He had been almost loving today, letting him moan and feel what was happening to him. Letting his body enjoy the impression.

He groaned and flung his very conflicted self on the couch. He was so tired, and there was no cold water to splash himself with and give some ebb to this erosion on his will power. He closed his eyes and tried to school his body in ignorance, force it to forget what it needed.

In the next half hour he began to drift off to sleep on the couch, comforted in some small way by the silky pillows. When his eyes were closed and he just begun to feel the pull of the sandman, his sharp ears caught the whisperings of servants outside. He heard his name mentioned, and bits and pieces about a council debating…Aladdin? He sat up with a sudden jolt and rushed to where Aladdin and Jasmine entered from. He listened to the conversation, about the rejection of Aladdin and the Sultana's desperate recourse of proof or abdication.

He grinned, for the first time in weeks he felt he had something over his captors. He could have skipped! Suddenly it all made sense. His capture, instead of death for his crimes a life in which he was forced to obey and bow. Anger quickly converted joy. He was being used! He could handle the sex and fondling. After all they had been…gentle, in comparison of his earlier master. There had been a tenderness in their actions, a comforting presence of not wanting to really hurt him so much as control him.

Now it made sense. The gentleness was not due to concern for him but rather regret at what they had to do. There was a strange pride in the knowledge that no other tyrant or villain would do. Aladdin had many enemies, an over abundance in fact. And out of all those he had been picked for this. Of course, he admitted to himself I am the most attractive out of them all. He certainly couldn't see Aladdin and Jasmine rutting in the sheets with Abis Mal or Mechanicales.

He smiled and relaxed on the couch, contented that he had learned something useful. He had two days. Two day to think on it and see if it could indeed be useful.