A/N: First off, so many thanks to readers Dai and Justabibliophile for the helpful reviews. I'm always reticent to use translations from the internet, but thanks to your assurances, I feel much more confident trying to incorporate a few more cultural references. Dai, I can't wait to work in your Arabic suggestions. So, congratulations on becoming my unofficial sensitivity censors. Please feel free to call me out on anything I get wrong, and I am open to any and all helpful suggestions for things to include. Also, so glad I could make you smile.
Waking up in Aladdin's arms was a feeling Jasmine would never stop savoring. She never wanted to get used to it, to take it for granted. Every morning she woke with his chest as her pillow, and at least one arm slung protectively around her waist. In his sleep, he clung to her like a child might their blanket or favorite toy — unable to sleep unless he held her in his arms.
Trailing fingertips gently across the width of his defined chest, he shifted in his sleep, tightening his hold on her. Lifting her fingers to his neck, she followed the line of his jaw, his cheekbone, delicately brushing aside the flop of dark fringe that seemed forever falling in those deep brown eyes. Moving down the length of the arm not wrapped around her, she contented herself with drawing lazy designs into the palm of his upturned hand.
Magician's hands — dexterous, nimble — Aladdin's hands were a small wonder to her. She was mesmerized by his ability to make things disappear and reappear before she even knew they were gone. Truth be told, it was the first thing she liked about him. As time went on, she often caught herself just watching his hands — the way they moved, always busy, playing with anything he found laying around that was small enough to palm or roll between his fingers. She also savored the other ways he proven the wonder of those roving hands.
One day a few months after their coronations, he'd disappeared completely after their lunch together. Searching the entire palace for him, she found him in the library, twirling a qalam between his fingers like a baton. He was repeatedly scribbling something across the parchment on multiple lines, taking the time to peruse it when he reached the end of the page, pen twirling idly as he analyzed his work, only to crumble the parchment up in frustration before starting again. Dazzled by the controlled deftness of his fingers, it took her a few minutes before she realized he what he was doing. He was practicing his signature — something he would need for approving official documents. In that moment she realized, he had never had to use it before. Working as hard as he was, reminded of Dalia's words at the Harvest Dance — He's trying so hard. — she hadn't had the heart to interrupt him, and left him alone until he mastered his task.
The memory led her back to the conversation last night, and his frustrations weighed heavier on her. I can barely understand the correspondence we receive. I'm terrible at sorting out the financial records. Aladdin had told her that he had attended school for a while before his mother died, but he only had a few years before he lost her. He managed well enough with simple reading, writing, and arithmetic, but she had never really pushed the issue to fill in his educational gaps. Now, she worried that he was unfairly paying the price for that with all the expectations and responsibilities they had placed on him.
Pushing the concerns from her busy head, she allowed it to drift back to the simple pleasure of admiring Aladdin's exquisite hands. Raking her index finger down his life line, up his fate line, across his heart line, she heard happy noises rumbling from deep in his throat. In his haze between sleeping and waking, he smiled slightly. Once before, she had admitted to him how much she admired his hands, and he admitted with a sheepish grin how relaxing he found her gentle ministrations when she trailed her fingers over his palm. Since then, it had been her little gesture to him as a silent expression of her love.
Under his hands, inside his embrace, this is where she felt safe. But the comfort he provided her ran so much deeper than that. Under the pressure of her historic reign, she was a living precedent. The rest of the world was lying in wait for her to show her first sign of weakness, expecting her to fail, to point out any misstep she had as evidence of why a woman was never meant to rule in the first place. But, with Aladdin, she had the luxury of letting down the facade of Sultana, to let her worries be known, the uncertainties she held when she feared making the wrong choice. Unlike the members of the court, the rich merchant class, and the foreign ruling families whose sons she had rejected as suitors, fearful that they would steal her throne, Aladdin would never use her moments of vulnerability against her.
This incredible man was the only person she had ever know with whom she did not need to explain herself. He had known and understood her from the very beginning. Perhaps that had been the unconscious trade he had made when leaving school to begin his education on the streets. He had learned to study people, not books. Read faces, body language, motives and hearts, rather than words. He had known she was from the palace from the moment he laid eyes on her, and empathized with her struggle with the simple recognition of how similar it was to his own. It was for this very reason that she wanted him to join her when she met with her subjects. He served as a translator for a language she had never known — her people. The uncanny ability he had to always know exactly what people needed to hear, or how to help them was positively preternatural. How could he not understand how important he was to this city, this kingdom, to her?
Now she realized that this is what she should have told him last night. But, her fears had clouded her judgment. Otherwise, she would have never have assumed he was unhappy with her. With Baba gone to Sherabad, she was letting the anxiety of being on her own for the first time get the better of her. Still, it needed to be said. The more reassurance she could give him that he held an important purpose in the kingdom, she hoped to Allah that it would drive away this melancholy he was suffering.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak his name, a knock came on the double door of their suite. Cursing her lack of thoughtfulness last night, she reluctantly slipped out of his arms, propping her back against the pillows and the headboard. It would have to wait until later then. She promised herself she would make a point to bring it up the next time she caught him with that distant look in his eyes.
"Come in."
The guard opened the door from the outside, and a teenage servant girl came bounding into the room carrying a tray of tea and fruit.
"Salaam, Your Majesty." She bowed when she reached the edge of the bed, placing the tray over Jasmine's legs.
"Salaam, Maryam," Jasmine replied with a smile.
Groaning at the sound of voices, Aladdin rolled away from the pair, grumbling something unintelligible as he pulled the covers over his head. Jasmine shook her head and ignored him.
"Did you sleep well, my Sultana?"
"I've slept better." She shrugged.
Making a dramatic show of his annoyance at all the noise, Aladdin flipped the covers down, grabbed a pillow, flopped onto his stomach, smashed the pillow down over his head, and snapped the covers back up. Holding the Sultana's gaze, Jasmine was impressed with how well Maryam was biting back her laugh, maintaining proprietary to the best of her ability, which was more than she could say right now for her husband.
"So has the Prince," Jasmine added with a forced smile. "But, thank you for asking."
Steam furled from the two glasses of tea, one of which Jasmine brought to her lips as Maryam pulled a stack of letters from her apron pocket.
"The Vizier said you should read this one first." The girl tapped the top letter on the stack. "It came this morning from a Sherabad envoy."
"Oh!" Jasmine jumped excitedly as she broke the seal on the letter. "Wonderful. It must be news from Baba. Thank you for letting me know."
"You're welcome, Your Majesty. Anything else?"
Unfurling the folded paper, Jasmine replied, "Yes, tell Nasreen that I will be ready for her as soon as I finish my tea and tell the Vizier to meet me in my study in about an hour."
"Of course." She bowed again. "Salaam, Your Majesty." Half a step away, Maryam hesitated, adding with a barely hidden smirk. "I hope the Prince feels better."
Something sounding suspiciously like Go away, Maryam came from the nest of pillows and blankets, but it was too muffled to be sure. Breaking the pretense of formality for a moment, the Sultana and Maryam shared a conspiratorial giggle before the girl bowed again and left.
As the door clicked shut, Jasmine elbowed the lump in the bed that was her husband.
"Must you be so hostile to the staff?"
Her question was met with more grumbling as he shifted deeper into his cocoon.
"C'mon. We're on a tight schedule today, so you need to get up."
Leaning over to his side, she peeled up the edge of the cover, yanking away the pillow. He responded by covering his head with both his arms and pushing his face further into the downy mattress.
"...sleepy…"
"So am I. Someone kept me up a few hours last night," she chided. "But, do you really want to miss out on today? You're opening a school that you personally founded in the poorest quarter of the city. It's going to change the lives of children just like you. Aren't you excited? Proud?"
"Can't we do it tomorrow?" He said directly into the mattress.
"You're impossible," she laughed. "Also, your tea is getting cold."
Finally returning to her letter, eyes scanning it quickly, Aladdin emerged, making every effort to express his irritability as he swiped up his tea.
"If you can put aside your moodiness for a second, you might be glad to know that Baba made it safely to Sherabad." She held up the letter before moving onto the next one in the small pile of correspondence.
"Glad to hear it." Rubbing at his eye with the mound of his palm, he arched his back to stretch. Flicking her eyes to her periphery for a moment, she allowed herself a brief moment to appreciate the sight. He was rather too attractive for his own good, wasn't he? "How long is he there for, again?"
"Hmm? Oh...um..." Returning to the distraction of the missives, Jasmine shook her head to refocus her thoughts and remind herself how to form sentences, which was no small feat when he was putting every one of his chest and back muscles on display. "... as long as it takes to re-secure the terms of the alliance. It shouldn't be too long — with Uncle Chandresh ascending to the throne, it's really just a formality. Although, they always were very competitive towards each other, so who knows? A few weeks maybe, then depending on the rains, another week or two traveling."
"Well, with as busy as you have been lately, you'll barely notice he's gone."
Pausing, she let her hand rest over the last unread letter. "I can't help but wonder if sending him as our emissary was a good idea?"
"Why?" Aladdin plucked a few grapes from the bunch and popped them in his mouth. "Who else is more qualified?"
"It's not that… obviously he knows what he's doing. That's not even in question…" She tapped her nails on the tray thoughtfully. "It just feels so much harder to do this knowing I'm really on my own."
Picking up the last letter, she began to pry open the folds, but his larger hand came down over both of hers.
"Habibti, look at me." Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he guided her gaze to him. "What did I tell you the day we met?"
"That you were a pathetic wretch whose only parental influence was a monkey."
Snorting, he set down his tea so her could use both hands to hold hers. "No. The other thing… when we were standing on the roof and you didn't think you could make the jump."
"Why are you repeating everything I say?"
He sighed, narrowing his eyes at her mockery with a knowing smirk. "You can do this. I meant it then, and I mean it now."
Slipping her hand out of his to reach for those errant black strands again, she asked, "Doniety, how are you always so good at telling others what they need to hear, but never believing any of that advice about yourself?"
"Don't change the subject." Chagrined, he bopped her on the tip of the nose. "This isn't about me, and you know I'm right. You're a one woman army when you need to be. Allah help those who should get in your way when you set your mind to something. I'd rather walk straight into a sandstorm than to cross you on the wrong day."
"Flattering, thank you." She scoffed.
"Besides," he added, words heavy with uncharacteristic severity, "you are not in this alone."
He had that look on his face again — the same one he had when he met her eyes across the alley between those two roofs. The one that made her believe she could do anything because he believed it so adamantly, and that conniving little charmer could convince her of anything.
"I know… I know… you're right." She shifted, sitting up taller. "I am the first the Sultana of Agrabah. I can handle anything these next few weeks can throw at me. I am strong, determined, more than capable— "
"And, humble too," he mumbled around another mouthful of grapes.
Crooking her finger, she beckoned him, leaning forward with hungry eyes. Closing the gap between them, Aladdin complied, eyes drifting shut, lips pursed ready to receive the anticipated kiss. Instead, Jasmine thwacked him with a pillow so hard he fell out of bed with a satisfying thump.
"Get dressed."
A/N: I read somewhere, that of course I cannot recall, that the Harvest Dance was reminiscent of Indian dancing because Sherabad was meant to represent an Indian-esque kingdom, so I took that as my inspiration when referring to Sherabad.
qalam- a reed quill used for writing Islamic calligraphy
Habibti- beloved
Doniety- my world. I love the idea as this for Jasmine's pet name for Aladdin since he become her "whole new world". (Thanks, Dai!)