Author's Note: I've heard your wonderful encouragement, my lovely reviewers. The story goes on! Of course, it wouldn't be any fun if things went smoothly for our new lovers, now would it? This chapter… creates some conflict. But don't worry; everything will be fine.

Silver Orbed Lioness: Iago is pretty difficult to write, so I don't think I'm going to include him in this story.

Frieza82: Merci beaucoup! My French is rusty, so I used Google Translate for your review and you're so sweet!

Oswin: I agree with the pairing and I'm glad you like how I'm writing Jafar! I'm also a fan of the Arabian Nights version. :)

Guest (1): Thank you! There has to be someone to smooth over things with Jasmine's scorned suitors, right? ;)

Guest (2): I'm so obsessed with them as a pairing. But I can't make it too easy for them to wind up together; they are both stubborn.

Camaim: Thank you so much! I hope you like this chapter, too.

xxxxxxxxxx

The soreness between Jasmine's legs took longer than she expected to subside. Once it did, her biggest struggle was remembering how often she and Jafar interacted. Before their intense encounter, did they even speak on a daily basis? When they were called to the throne room by her father, did they acknowledge each other or did she pointedly ignore him? Pretending that nothing had happened made her head spin more than it did when she first came onto Jafar's hand. Or when he pushed his robes aside to expose his hard, thick cock.

She blinked quickly. That was not something that she needed to think about.

Wishing she had a distraction from her active imagination, she sighed and gazed across the courtyard. It was peaceful here, quiet except for songbirds' melodies and water trickling from the fountain. No one was around, aside from Rajah sleeping beneath the shade of a tree.

Part of her recognized that she was being melodramatic, sprawled on the ground near the fountain, head resting against her arm on its ledge, fingers lazily dipping into the cool water. She didn't even find humor in the fact that a few feet away Prince Abdul slipped and Rajah tore a swatch of fabric from Prince Achmed's robes. The ridiculous truth was, she couldn't pull herself from this mood.

Footsteps approached and a tall shadow blocked the sun. Her heart leapt and she straightened, fighting to maintain her composure. "Jafar."

"Princess." He bowed, and then sat on the fountain ledge near her. "It has been two days since you rejected Prince Achmed's advances."

She stared at him blankly. Prince Achmed felt like a distant memory. She remembered two days ago for completely different reasons. Now, with Jafar within inches of her, that really was all she could think about. She wondered if she could raise her hand from the water and brush it against his thigh. It worked once before, better than she could have imagined. If only she could take her eyes off of him and make sure the courtyard was still empty.

"Jasmine."

So they were alone. She imagined climbing onto his lap and straddling him, throwing his turban to the ground and twisting her fingers into his curls as they kissed. He would grab her by the hips, digging his long fingers into her sides. He would smell of cloves and cardamom, the tantalizing scent that lingered on her for hours after their tryst.

"Did you hear me?"

"What?" Jasmine shook herself from her daydream. "No, I… I wasn't listening."

"Your birthday is tomorrow." At her blank expression, he clarified, "Your 18th birthday. Your father is contemplating choosing a husband for you himself."

She jolted, completely ignoring protocol to sit by his side and grab his arm. "I rejected every suitor. He can't do that."

For a moment, she thought that she saw a soft look in his eyes, the one he had when he stopped her from falling into hysteria. Then he turned his head and she could only see his profile. "I intend to speak with him this afternoon. He values my judgement. The suitors you entertained were neither appropriate for ruling Agrabah, nor worthy of you."

"Let me talk to him. He can't force me to marry! I am not a prize to be won."

"Your father is aware of your feelings on this matter. I doubt that reiterating your protests will work to your advantage."

"So I can't even speak for myself?" she hissed before her voice took a broken turn. "Look at me."

He turned his head slowly, languidly, as if looking upon her was no different from paying attention to one of the servants.

Her daydreams crumbled, taking with them any hope she had of playing the elusive seductress. She never had been one. No, she was a sheltered little girl who was far out of her element. "I don't know how to act around you anymore."

"Need I remind you of both your role and my own? I am the Royal Vizier, and you the Princess of Agrabah. Act as such."

Those terse words felt like a physical hit. Oxygen fled from her lungs as she dropped his arm and stared at her feet. Tears blurred her vision, but she desperately fought to keep them at bay.

It was a battle that she lost the second Jafar delivered the disdainful, killing blow: "Men cross the desert to seek your hand, yet you gave yourself to one who didn't even cross the room."

Without another word, he stood and left.

Jasmine collapsed on the fountain ledge, unable to contain her sobs. Certainly Jafar heard her, but she couldn't care and, clearly, he didn't either. Her wails awoke Rajah who trotted to her side, always her faithful confidant. Jasmine threw herself upon him, bawling into his fur.

The Sultan did try to talk to her. He reminded her of her duties as Princess, his concerns as an aging father, and the future of Agrabah. All his rambling did was confirm one thing: kind-hearted as he was, the law was the law. He would confer with Jafar and, in the morning, inform her of his decision.

Night blackened the sky. Jasmine had only one option.

Covered in simple clothes, a brown dress of rough material and a matching hijab, Jasmine crouched beside her beloved tiger. "I'm sorry, Rajah. But I can't stay here and have my life lived for me. I'll miss you."

She gave her loyal companion one last hug and the loving tiger, whining pitifully, boosted her over the palace walls. And so Princess Jasmine spent the beginning of her 18th birthday by venturing outside the palace walls for the first time.

The marketplace came to life at dawn, rising with the sun out of its silent stupor. People moved as a pack, bumping elbows as they pushed from cart to cart. The aroma of fresh meats mingled with mint, aniseed, and coriander. Men called out greetings to each other, women haggled over prices, and children ran between strangers' legs, oblivious to their surroundings. Vendors shouted over the cacophony. The combined noise pollution silenced Jasmine's racing thoughts.

It was exhilarating to forget about the palace, her dismal future, and the man she saw even when she closed her eyes.

Within hours of her arrival, she learned that she couldn't simply take food from the stands. A young child, one whose parents were nowhere to be seen, tried that. All Jasmine saw before the crowd broke her line of sight was a saber raise into the air. The screams, however, reached her just fine.

Without money, she was forced to haggle with her jewelry: thin, golden bracelets and anklets, and heavy earrings. Having little concept of their value, she never realized she was being swindled.

For three days, Jasmine convinced herself that she could make a life here. On the fourth day, worry set in. More and more guards patrolled the marketplace. She found herself ducking behind buildings almost constantly to avoid being seen. Even with her hijab tight around her hair, she felt exposed. Often, she put a hand to her cheek, where Jafar once had, and looked down to avoid detection. This adventure of hers was no longer fun, or going according to plan.

What had she expected? To vanish without her father sending the entire palace guard on a rescue mission? To start a new life right outside the palace gates?

She could return home. Her father would be too overjoyed to ask too many questions. Jafar, on the other hand… Her gut twisted. Being interrogated by him should have been her biggest fear, but now she worried that he'd simply act like she didn't exist. Lost in her swirling thoughts, she didn't see the street rat approach until he spoke.

"Is this your first time in the marketplace?"

Jasmine turned quickly and spotted a young man around her age with a monkey perched on his shoulder. She had seen that monkey before, watching her from various overhangs and scurrying off when she caught its eye. They were following her. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you do kinda stand out." He gave her a cheeky grin and she could have sworn that the monkey rolled its eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she thought that he recognized her. That was impossible. It wasn't recognition in his eyes, but faintly concealed interest. How disappointing to realize that commoners, street rats, and princes all had one thing in common. Tired, defeated, she looked to the sky and tucked stray hairs beneath her hijab.

Clouds were rolling in. She blinked, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. Exhausted as she was, this wasn't a hallucination. Trying to process what this meant, she barely heard the street rat when he said, "I'm Aladdin."

The lie came to her easily. "Jamila."

Before either could say anything else, lightning crackled overhead. They both jumped, fully aware of how fast and deadly desert rainstorms were.

"We need to get off the streets." Aladdin grabbed his monkey from his shoulder and tucked him under his vest. The terrified creature clung to its master like a small child, tail curled along his body and grasping him with hands and feet.

"I just got into the city." It wasn't quite a lie, but she was honest when she said, "I have nowhere to go."

Aladdin looked at the monkey who shook his head vehemently and screeched. Their silent argument was brief, cut short as they glanced at the quickly darkening sky. "Come with Abu and me."

Thunder crashed. Jasmine was hesitant, but there was no time. She nodded.

They ran through the streets, skirting between carts and narrowly avoiding being trampled by panicked mobs that ducked into the nearest building. When the going became too hectic, Aladdin grabbed her hand and held it tightly, keeping them from getting separated. Fat raindrops began tumbling from the sky. The once trampled flat sand of the marketplace turned to silt.

Just when panic began to bring a metallic taste to Jasmine's mouth, Aladdin pulled her into an abandoned building. They climbed up half-broken stairs to the roof. The sky had turned the color of flint and each bolt of lightning threatened to set it ablaze.

"We have to jump!"

"What?!"

Aladdin pointed to a balcony, slightly lower than the roof they were currently on. Abu had already climbed onto his back, squeaking as the rain pummeled his tiny body. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't, but even she knew that staying outside was far worse than risking the leap. "Yes."

From the middle of the roof, Aladdin took her hand once again and started to run. She ran alongside him, praying that Allah would protect her. Adrenaline burst through her, overriding her fear instinct as she heard Aladdin shout, "Jump!"

She did.

The landing was far less painful than anticipated, softened by her thick, unflattering dress. Aladdin pulled her to her feet and dragged her inside. Abu chittered incessantly. It almost looked like he was chastising Aladdin as he shook what water he could from his fur.

Hysterical laughter exploded from Jasmine. She sank to her knees, cackling like someone who had lost their mind. The complete insanity of the past week overwhelmed her. If she had stayed in the palace, she would probably be in a hot bath with one of her servant girls washing her hair. She would watch the storm from the safety of her room, eating dates while complaining about nothing.

Instead, here she was, completely detached from every comfort she had known, relying on the mercy of a stranger. So much for her grandiose ideas of independence outside the palace walls.

Her breakdown, although short lived, drained her. Limbs numb, senses dulled, and drenched from rainwater, she half-noticed when Aladdin draped a blanket over her shoulder. She let him lead her to the broken windowsill where he grasped the drape with one hand. He smiled awkwardly.

"It's not much," he admitted before pulling back the tattered curtain to reveal a view of the palace in all its splendor, "but it's got a great view."

There it was, her home, backlit with lightning. It looked more ominous and marvelous than anything that could have been described by Scheherazade. To her, it was both foreboding and welcoming. Or maybe that was just one of its inhabitants.

"I wonder what it would be like to live there," Aladdin's voice broke through her self-pity. He ripped a slice of pita in half and handed her one side, "to have servants and valets."

"Oh sure." Jasmine ripped off a bite-sized piece and chewed it slowly. The bread was fresh, clearly baked that day, but to her tasted like ash. "People who tell you where to go and how to dress."

"It's better than here. Always scraping for food and ducking the guards." Aladdin continued to ramble on, unaware that she had long stopped listening.

Jasmine's eyes suddenly felt heavy. She sat on a rug near the windowsill, using her the crook of her elbow as a pillow, pita forgotten in hand. Between the sound of the street rat's voice and the abating rain, she began nodding off.

The next day, the fifth day, Aladdin offered to go by himself to find some food. Jasmine didn't argue. From the vantage point of his hideout, she could see that guards absolutely swarmed the marketplace. He wasn't gone long, returning with a few apples and chatting with Abu. The monkey ran into the rafters to eat his fruit in peace.

"I know a runaway when I see one," Aladdin said, breaking the silence. He rolled an apple down his shoulder, and bounced it from his elbow. "And girls only run from two types of people."

"Oh?" Jasmine caught it easily and flicked dust from its red skin.

He bit into his and nodded. "Fathers and husbands."

Jasmine laughed. She never would have expected commoners and princesses to have so much in common.

"So? Which is it?"

She ate her apple quietly, buying herself time to respond. Finally, she said, "My father is forcing me to get married."

"That's … that's awful."

She stared at him, not expecting his genuine response. He barely even knew her, yet he offered her more compassion and empathy than the man who she gave her virginity to. She grimaced and walked to the window, glaring at the palace as she tossed the apple core.

"Are you ok?" Aladdin moved to her side and tentatively put an arm around her shoulders.

His simple gesture stunned her. Not even thinking it through – that was the theme of the week, wasn't it? – she faced him and stroked his cheek. He looked down at her tenderly, so differently from Jafar.

He placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head back for a kiss. She didn't fight it. His lips were tentative and soft, pressing against hers in gentle, probing kisses. They were sweet, not what Jasmine was used to.

She was desperate for touch. Arching her back into him, she deepened the kiss. Her nails scraped lightly along his cheek and she moaned softly, searching for a reaction from him.

He fumbled with her hijab for a moment before pulling it from her head and freeing her thick, long hair. His fingers carefully moved through it, avoiding the snarls and tangles. Knots were something he seemed used to, unlike pampered palace dwellers. Adoration filled his eyes.

Despite her disheveled state, she felt like the most beautiful woman in all the desert kingdoms. She kissed Aladdin with renewed vigor. Her tongue entered his mouth, tasting pita and apples. Pushing the vest from his body, her hands across his pecs and biceps. His muscles were hard and defined, proof that only the strong survived on the streets.

This – a way to forget about the vizier – this was what she needed.

Determined now, Jasmine pulled the dress over her head. Sunlight glistened off of her exposed curves and highlighted his muscles. Her hands ran up and down him, lingering on his abs, wrapping around his arms. She threw her hair over a shoulder and pulled him towards her.

His arousal hardened between them. One hand crept up her leg and the other settled between her shoulder blades to brace her as they stood.

Heat burned between her thighs as he traced his calloused fingers towards her tingling labia. She bit her lip and moaned as he reached his goal. But when his fingers slipped inside her, Jasmine winced. They scraped along her walls and, no matter how she shifted her hips, the angle was never quite right.

"Aladdin." The name was strange, but exciting leaving her lips. She moved her hips, trying to work with fingers that were too stiff. Just as she began to feel the stirrings of pleasure, Aladdin pulled his fingers from her, and guided her hand under his pants to his waiting cock.

It was smaller than she expected. How naïve of her to think that all men were the same. She wrapped her hand around it, easily encircling it, and began stroking up and down. It wasn't nearly as thick as Jafar's, nor as long, and when Aladdin returned his fingers inside her, their inability to curl into her was just another thing that reminded her of him.

"Jamila," Aladdin moaned as she rubbed his cock.

Jasmine started, but quickly remembered that Jamila was the name she gave him. She relaxed and shifted her hips again, angling them differently against his prodding fingers.

Aladdin leaned down to kiss her, and she eagerly met his lips. He slipped out of his pants and moved her so that she had to look out the window. He bent her over and, with the palace in full view, thrust into her.

Jasmine grunted. Aladdin was smaller than Jafar, but she had been far more aroused when he entered her. This felt uncomfortable for her, but Aladdin's groans meant it wasn't for him. She looked down at her hands, gripping the windowsill, dirty from days and nights on the streets. A few of her nails were jagged and broken, something she had never experienced before. They were unsightly, but better than looking forward, staring at the palace that she had just escaped.

Aladdin continued to thrust into her, murmuring a name that wasn't hers. His rhythm was steady, pleasurable. He reached forward and took her breasts into his hands. She moaned softly, closing her eyes and focusing on the increasingly enjoyable feeling of him inside her.

Jasmine stopped trying to push Jafar from her mind. She succumbed to reminiscing about how his hands felt gripping her, confident and possessive, how heavy his cock felt inside her, and how his dark eyes burned into her soul. Before she could call out the wrong name, she covered her mouth with her hand. She remembered how Jafar growled her name, how she begged for more, the feeling of his breath on her neck. For a moment, she convinced herself that she was back on his desk and her body began to shake.

Just as she came, there was a crash in the building.

The broke apart. Jasmine jerked forward and Aladdin back. She felt a warm splash on her back and realized Aladdin had finished as well. For a horrible, frozen moment, Jasmine stared at the intruder: Razoul.

"Princess?" Razoul could scarcely say her title and his eyes darted between her and Aladdin.

"Princess?!" Aladdin paled.

Jasmine reached for her dress and clutched it to her naked body. Her stomach turned; she was unable to speak.

"Princess, what did he do to you?" Razoul slowly began unsheathing his saber.

"Nothing! He…" Horrified, she mouthed one word to Aladdin: "Run."

Razoul lunged.

Aladdin was faster. He grabbed his clothing in one hand, Abu leapt onto his shoulder, and they jumped from the building. Razoul could have chased the culprit, but his duty was first to protecting Jasmine.

"I will escort you to the palace," he said, looking at anything but her as she pulled the dress over her head. "Your father will be relieved that we found you. My men will capture the street rat and he will pay for assaulting you."

"He didn't—" Jasmine quickly cut herself off and followed Razoul out of the building. She couldn't believe that the two times that she had found herself in a compromising position, he came barging in. Yet her bigger concern awaited her in the palace. Her father might be happy to see her, but Jafar?

She didn't know if she was more excited or terrified to see him again.