It was only after Tamina left the room that Dastan felt as though he could move again.

King Sharaman departed with her, most of the other people filing out after the two highest ranking monarchs. It was only when they were more or less alone that Garsiv approached Tus, Dastan forcing himself to move behind his brother. He still felt dazed, his heart heavy with the knowledge of their father's decision. His marriage should not be to fix another's mistake? But if there was one thing he wished to keep from the earlier time, it was that he and Tamina become as they once were. That they learn to be with each other as they had once been. Now unless he could find a way to speak to his father, to get him to change his mind, they were going to never have that chance.

"Congratulations, brother," Garsiv said.

Tus nodded, though the stiffness of the gesture matched the stiff tone in Garsiv's voice. Dastan looked between them, knowing perfectly well why they acted the way they did. Since they were born, Tus and Garsiv had their paths laid out for them. Tus would follow in Sharaman's footsteps, becoming a great and noble King of the Persian Empire. Garsiv would walk the path of Nizam, becoming his wise and trusted vizier. But Nizam's treachery had been shattering. Now the path that had been laid so clear to them was wrought with danger, twisted with confusion. As he looked at them, Dastan felt his anger at their uncle rise. The man was dead, but the repercussions of what he had done would echo for long after the body was cold.

"Dastan," Tus looked at him, "I am sorry for what you must have endured. Father was right, your first marriage should not be to fix my mistake."

As though Dastan was seeing a ghost, he watched as the line of his brothers throat seemed to split, as if cut by an invisible blade. His eyes widened as he stared at the line of red that seemed to spill from the corner of Tus's mouth. Suddenly it was truly impossible to breathe as the man standing in front of him seemed to pale, as though his blood was spilling out of him. Though his chest struggled for air, Dastan found he could not inhale.

"Dastan?" Garsiv's voice seemed to come across a great distance, "Dastan are you alright?"

Dastan turned to Garsiv, already knowing what he would see. The darts that had ended his brother's life were back, protruding out of his chest as blood stained the white shirt he wore. His lips were stained as well, the red blood making his mouth seem almost garish. Concern etched his face but all Dastan could see was the pair of them looking as they had when Nizam ended their lives.

"I-" Dastan began, "I-I cannot be here," he said, turning on his heel and all but throwing himself out of the room.

He heard his brother call to him but it was a half hearted call at best. They were all just as distraught as he was. He forced himself to walk, though his heart seemed to be trying to escape his chest. His brothers were alive, not riddled with darts or bleeding with slit throats. They were whole, they were well and yet the image of their deaths seemed to be burned into his head. His stomach rolled and Dastan choked on the bile that burned his throat. But he forced himself not to be sick, not to give in to the urge to vomit and collapse to the ground, sobbing. He could not do that, not now. Not when remaining on his feet was the best he could do. Forcing himself forward, he focused on breathing. Only on breathing until the feeling of wanting to die began to slip away.

He had to find his father.

Of that he was sure. He needed to speak to the King, needed to make him see that Tamina could not marry Tus. Not now. Not like this. His thoughts were jumbled as he walked the silent corridors of Alamut, intent on finding his father. There had to be a reason, a plausible explanation-something that would make his father see Tamina should marry him and not Tus. In spite of the fact that Tus was the future King of Persia, had many other wives and their father seemed to think he needed to be taught a lesson in responsibility. If there was one thing that Dastan knew his father was capable of, it was teaching his sons a lesson. The thought of Tamina, however, being used as a lesson for Tus made his stomach roll for the Princess. She deserved better. Much better than to be a lesson taught to his older brother. Dastan continued down the corridor with no destination in mind, his thoughts too confusing to let him think properly about such things as where he was walking. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was luck, perhaps it truly was punishment from the Gods but when Dastan looked up he was just outside of the gardens in a sheltered walkway. His eyes moved to the gardens and landed on the lone figure there.

Tamina was sitting on the edge of the fountain.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. The white robes she wore pooled around her, the fabric pale against the warm stones that made the floor of the garden. Her head was turned to the fountain, as though the waters there held answers she so desperately sought. In the dark of the night, she seemed almost otherworldly. For a moment Dastan wondered if he had not managed to turn back time at all. If she was somehow a specter or a ghost, sent to haunt him. Sitting there she looked too perfect to be real and though she was breathtaking, Dastan found he irrationally wished to see her in the sand stained white garments she'd worn during their adventure together.

Her body stiffened a moment before she straightened up, her head turning to look at him. Her eyes easily found his, their expression unreadable. He found himself unable to look away from that gaze. Now it shone unreadable but he remembered with painful clarity the bright spark of anger, the dance of humor, even the softness that had shone those last few times when she had looked at him. The tightness in his chest was almost unbearable as he realized how far they had come. He could not read her now, no more than he had been able to read his brothers when he had first moved into the palace. The only thing that shone in her eyes now was wariness. A few feet and a million, impenetrable walls stood between the pair of them now. Only when her eyes lowered did he walk forward.

"In Alamut, one comes to the gardens for solidarity," Tamina said to him.

"My apologies," Dastan said, "but since you brought me here before I assumed it was alright."

Tamina said nothing, but Dastan knew her well enough to know if she wanted him gone she would make it clear. Silently he stood in front of her, his trembling hands hidden behind his back. Tamina looked up at him, her eyes unsure and Dastan realized that he must seem quite mad to find her in the gardens and then not speak to her. Forcing his voice to be steady, Dastan broke the silence.

"Congratulations," he said quickly, "on your engagement to my brother."

"Thank you," she said, inclining her head.

"It must be hard though," he said, "to be marrying a man just because his idiot of a younger brother figured out that the east gate would be less guarded."

She looked at him almost warily, as though she was unsure of what he was saying. Something deep inside Dastan's chest twisted viciously at the way she looked at him and for a moment he wanted to reach out and shake her. To scream that he knew her, that she knew him, that they had shared something. Something profound. Something that had brought them so close together that to be ripped apart like this was senseless and cruel. But the words caught in his throat as he looked at her and before he could speak, Tamina did.

"I suppose then," she began, her eyes rising to meet his, "the blame lays partially with my High Council for ordering the majority of our guards to the main gate."

Dastan stared at her, disbelief rolling through him at her words. It was guarded, barely even teasing really, surely a far cry from their earlier easy banter. But it was something. Tamina looked at him evenly, her eyes calm and the barest hint of a smile on her lips. Almost against his will, Dastan felt his own lips curve up into a smile that echoed hers.

"As with any invasion, there is blame to go around," he said.

"You must forgive my ignorance," Tamina replied evenly, "this is my first such invasion."

"Well, Princess," Dastan sad, "there is a first time for everything."

Tamina's smile widened and Dastan felt his heart soar.

Dastan looked over to see a man standing wearing the robes of a guardian, his head bowed respectfully. Tamina turned her head to look at him, her expression once more unreadable.

"My deepest apologies, Princess, but it is time."

Tamina inclined her head before turning to face him. Dastan quickly pushed himself to his feet, offering his hand to her. Tamina looked at his hand before quickly moving her gaze to his face. Slowly she reached out and placed her hand in his, letting him held her to her feet. Her robes moved softly with the breeze as she stood, her body turning to face his.

"My apologies, Prince Dastan, but I must bid you goodnight," she said, slowly withdrawing her hand.

"Goodnight, Princess," he said, forcing his fingers to let hers go.

Dastan turned and watched the guardian and Tamina as they retreated, his eyes moving across the fabric she wore. She had smiled, he had made her smile and his heart felt lighter than it had all day. As though feeling his eyes on the Princess, the guardian who stood beside her turned his head to look at Dastan. For a reason he could not explain, Dastan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand.

Vaguely he recognized the man.

The man there was familiar, but in a way that marked him as more than a man who served as a guardian. The man had meant something, he had played an important role, though for the life of him Dastan could not say what it was. Frowning, Dastan got to his feet. Years of living on the streets and navigating the waters of the palace had taught him that when one had a feeling, it deserved investigation. His feelings seemed to have a particularly nasty habit of being right. Moving forward, he shifted his weight, rendering his steps as silent as he could make them without sacrificing speed. He saw the man shift and immediately ducked into the alcove, hiding himself from view. The last thing he wanted was for the man to see he was being followed. If he saw Dastan he would not act as he intended and that would only put Tamina in further danger.

Peering out, Dastan saw them further down the corridor. Staying close to the wall he followed them down the warmly lit space, his eyes scanning for any other threats. Most of the path was lined with ornate archways and bright torches, but as he looked up ahead Dastan could see that there was a stretch where there were thick walls with no view of the gardens. Two freestanding torches on wrought iron poles stood nearby, marking their entrance into the stretch of enclosed hallway. Dastan lowered his hand, reaching for his blade only to find there was none. Dastan glanced down, belatedly remembering that he had been meeting his father. People did not go to meet King Sharaman armed, not unless they wished to incur the wrath of his guards. He looked at the pair of them. They would reach the lamps faster than he could get to them. Casting his eyes about, Dastan looked for something, anything to use as a distraction.

His eyes landed on the torches set into brackets in the wall. Reaching upwards, Dastan's hand locked around the shaft of a torch set into the wall. Much to his relief, it pulled free. Reaching upwards he slid the thing silently out of its bracket. With trained eyes he saw the man's shoulders tense, his muscles moving as his hand went towards the blade at his hip. Drawing his hand back, Dastan waited until there could be no mistake. Until the man's hand had locked around his sword, until the two of them were positioned just through the two torches.

Dastan snapped his wrist forward.

WIth a terrific bang, the smaller torch slammed into the freestanding one, knocking it off balance and into the back of the man, the flames licking at his cloak. Without missing a beat, the man spun around, throwing the garment off as Dastan leapt forward, closing the distance between them. Sidestepping the man's quick pass with his blade, Dastan ducked, his hand locking around the shorter of the torches as he brought it up to parry the attack. The sword slid across the shorter metal as Dastan stepped back before lunging forward, slamming the blunt end of the makeshift weapon into the man's stomach.

Something white hot streaked across Dastan's wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. Twisting his body around, Dastan grabbed it with his other hand and blocked the man's next attack. The weapons met once more with a sharp sound that seemed to echo across the hallway. The man was quick and obviously well trained to survive any scenario. The blows that made it past Dastan's defenses came quick and fast. Dastan struck back as best he could, but with only the short, blunt torch it was difficult. The man struck a sharp blow upwards, forcing Dastan to grasp the torch with both hands as the sword bore down on his neck.

As they stood locked with each other, the sound of footsteps running down the hallway reached their ears. Guards were coming. From the sound of it they were approaching on all sides. Dastan knew it and the man who stood across from him seemed to know it as well. The man looked at him for a moment before disengaging him. Before Dastan could react, the man turned the blade on himself and without a moment's hesitation slit his own throat. Warm blood sprayed from his throat, landing on Dastan's forearm as the man crumpled to the ground. He was dead before his body could strike the marble.

Dastan looked at the blood that spread across the ground, staining the man's robes and the white stone underneath his feet. Disappointment and frustration surged through him. The man was dead. There would be no answers, not that night, not from the dead man who lay on the ground before him. Dropping his makeshift weapon on the body, Dastan straightened up. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck made him look behind him, at the darkness of the archway.

A man stood watching them, his fevered eyes shining in the darkness.

Cloaked entirely in black, he was almost indistinguishable from the shadows that surrounded the garden. The black robes he wore moved with the breeze that blew through the garden, giving the man an almost ethreal appearance. But it was his eyes Dastan could not look away from. Fevered and bright, he knew those eyes. Though the Prince was sure there were weapons on the man's body, he made no move to go for them. Dastan felt his hand tighten on the torch as he looked at the man cloaked in black, the man who he was sure watched him with those unsettling eyes. While they could no have held each others gaze for more than a moment, it was the longest moment of Dastan's short life.

Without a word, the man turned and vanished into the shadows.

"Wait!" Dastan was on his feet instantly, at the same instant that the guards arrived, "There's another man! In the gardens!" Dastan said motioning to the archway.

A handful of guards ran towards him but Dastan knew they would not find him. His eyes moved from them to the form of the Princess. Tamina stood there, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Her skin was pale as she looked at the body of the man, her eyes following the puddle of blood that spread from his slit throat across the floor. The guards began to swarm them, their eyes moving around for any further threats. If there were, Dastan was aware that they would present themselves. Not tonight. Tamina's eyes widened as the blood edged towards her shoes. Shaking off the last of his stupor, Dastan moved forward.

"Princess, are you alright?"

Her eyes moved towards him, the answer to the question very obvious. But Dastan had asked it to force her to try and reply, hoping to jar her out of her shock. Tamina looked down at the blood that almost touched her shoes before quickly stepping out of the way, coming to stand closer to him. Glancing back at the men, Dastan lightly touched her back. Tamina was clearly used to being guarded and obeyed his silent command, walking forward as he moved them away from the body.

"We need to get you inside," he continued, "is there somewhere in the palace your guardians do not go?"

Tamina looked up at him, her eyes scanning his face as though searching for some sign that she could trust him. Dastan looked back at her but kept them moving towards the palace. Her feet began to slow before coming to a stop, her back pressing against his forearm. Dastan felt frustration burn through him. They were standing in between a pair of open archways. it was too dangerous to just stop now. They had to get somewhere safer, somewhere where she was not in mortal danger.

"Princess if I wanted you dead I would not be trying to get you to safety."

"Or do you wish to kill me?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. Confusion shone on his face, "for the glory of Persia? To have complete control over Alamut and its treasures? Or perhaps you wish me dead so that your brother cannot have me!"

Horror at the idea she would even consider him capable of such a thing flooded Dastan. His chest seemed to constrict in anger at the idea of her thinking so lowly of him. Before he could stop himself his hand streaked out and locked around her upper arm. Tamina's eyes widened in outrage at the touch, her lips parting as if to scream.

"You know as well as I that there is only one treasure in Alamut worth having," he said quickly, "and if I wished for it I would have left you at the mercy of that man. He was dressed as a guardian which means the rest of them may have been compromised. I need to know if there is somewhere in here that is safe for you to be."

Tamina looked at him silently for a moment, her eyes hard. They left his face to look over at the guards as the handful that had chased the man in the gardens came running back. One shook his head as if to say they had not found the man. Tamina pressed her lips together before turning back to him. Dastan waited, forcing himself not to throw her over his shoulder and take her into his own rooms in an effort to protect her. Quickly Tamina nodded, turning her body so that her hand pulled free of his grasp.

"My rooms," she said, "the High Council protects them, they are free of the guardians control," she quickly moved forward, picking up one edge of her robe to facilitate greater speed.

Dastan fell quickly into step beside her, forcing himself not to lament the fact he had not grabbed a weapon. Tamina led him up the stairs and into the palace, moving quickly through the corridors. Dastan's eyes moved around, looking for anyone who could seem a threat. Tamina led them down mostly deserted corridors, her steps too quick for any to be foolish enough to stop them. Dastan could feel the warm blood on his skin, his own mixing with that of the dead man. there would be many questions from any who stopped them. The last corridor Tamina led them down was full of far more people, including two women who seemed familiar. One quickly came to where the pair of them were walking.

"There's been an attack," Tamina told her, not wasting any time on introductions or pleasantries, "summon all the male guardians to the lower Temple," she said, "and double the guard in the High Temple," she glanced at Dastan, "send word to the High Council for their guards as well. On pain of death the High Temple is not empty, not for a moment."

"As you command," the woman said, bowing and departing.

Tamina walked over to the pair of doors. The second woman quickly opened them. Tamina hurried inside and Dastan followed her, ignoring the strange look that the woman gave him as he entered the Princess's quarters. Tamina glanced at her and the woman quickly nodded, shutting the door behind the pair of them. Dastan glanced at the room, taking in the open shutters and the wide balcony before his eyes began to search for places that intruders could be hinding. It was only then that he realized Tamina was still moving. Her steps not slowing, Tamina turned a sharp right.

Dastan saw something flash out of the corner of his eye and barely managed to twist so that the sword she brandished sliced the air in front of his chest rather than the skin it aimed for.

Her movements were just as wild and impractical. There was no fire or sand or Aksh, the scene was chillingly familiar. Almost as familiar as the words she had hurled at his father and the changing of which brother she would marry. Giving himself no time to think of the things that went just as the Dagger had made them the first time, Dastan moved quickly out of the way as Tamina slashed, murder flashing in her eyes.

"Is this how you treat every man you bring into your rooms?" he asked.

"I am attack in the palace the very night you breach the walls of my city? Walls that have stood for a thousand years?" Tamina demanded, ignoring his attempt a humor, her voice furious, "do you really think me that much a fool?"

Dastan's eyes widened as the truth crashed into him.

She thought the man who attacked her was working for him. There was no trace of humor or trust in her eyes now, just fury and hurt. She wanted him dead and as he saw the way she looked at him Dastan realized he would not mind terribly if such a thing were true. The moment they had in the garden seemed to be like a knife in his heart, reminding him that somewhere inside her was the woman who had trusted him. Who would have laughed at the idea of him trying to hurt her. But as he sidestepped the furious, betrayed, Princess's lunge, Dastan was painfully aware of just how far that woman was from him. And just how close he had been to coaxing her out.

"That man was not working for me," he began to protest.

"Liar!" she shouted, "you infiltrated my guardians you filthy Persian!" she roared, the sword grazing his shoulder.

Deciding he had enough, Dastan moved forward quickly. She had been trained, that much was clear, but she had no practical experience. What she thought she would accomplish attacking him in her rooms, he had no idea. He saw the arc her sword would take and brought his hand up, catching her wrist in his grip as he turned so her chest was against his back. Twisting her around, he forced the sword from her grasp with a quick twist of his wrist, the blade clattering across the ground as he locked his arms around her, using his height and weight to his advantage. She struggled against him but his hands had caught her wrists and the garment she wore did not allow her the mobility her legs would require to get out of his hold or do him harm.

"And to think I had considered the possibility of a Persian man with honor," she spat.

Dastan opened his mouth to tell her that he was a man with honor when her earlier accusation echoed back to him. Dastan realized that what she had said was true. Persians had infiltrated the guardians of Alamut. Just as they had infiltrated the spy networks of Persia. With chilling clarity he realized exactly why the two men had seemed familiar. Suddenly he knew why he had known the man meant Tamina harm and why the others had not been able to find the one with the fevered blue eyes. Tamina's foot slammed into his shin but he only tightened his arm around her.

"Stop-stop!" he ordered, "that man was not working for me-nor for my father and brothers. He was working for my uncle," he said aloud, "he was working for Nizam who gave my brother false information which lead to your city being attacked."

"How convenient of you to have a dead man to blame for all your mistakes," Tamina shot back at him.

Anger burned through the Prince at her words. All of this was Nizam's fault. The dead look in his father's eyes, the shattered trust between his brothers. The men who had infiltrated the guardians and fed Nizam information. Even the hatred of the woman who struggled in his arms. All of it was because of his greedy, power crazed uncle. A man who had been treacherous enough to attempt to turn back time itself so that he could have the throne. And even from the grave Dastan realized his uncle was going to attempt to finish what he had begun. Dastan released the Princess in his arms, his hands falling to his sides. She stepped out of his arms, facing him and Dastan once again found himself paralyzed.

He barely felt it when she backhanded him.

His eyes were filled with the sight of her robes, soaked in blood. It was his blood but that did not seem to make a difference. Once, when he was a child he had found the body of a man who had fallen from a great height to his death. He had seen the way his limbs twisted unnaturally, the way his fogged eyes looked unseeing at the sky. But what had shocked him was the amount of blood that had been on the man's body. Blood that he knew would have been on Tamina's if the pit she had fallen into even had a bottom. As he had seen his brothers dead, so he saw her. Her lips parted, her mouth opening but instead of screaming his name as she had when she died, an entirely different word came out of her mouth.

"Guards!"

Dastan turned as the guards stormed into the room. One look at them, both soaked in blood, her robes clearly far more disheveled than his and they immediately raced forward. Two men grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind his back. The guards were all clothed in Alamutian garb, their eyes furious at the prospect of the Persian Prince assaulting their beloved Princess. Tamina stood behind them, one hand grasping the front of her blood stained robes as she looked at him, her dark eyes furious.

"Get him out of here," she ordered, her voice tight with fury.

Dastan looked up at her as the guards yanked him out of the room. She held his gaze for a moment longer but by the time he had cleared the archway she had already turned away. The doors slammed shut between them with a bang, the sound jarring and final as the guards dragged him from the room and out into the corridor. No sooner had they rounded the turn than an angry voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Get your hands off him!"

Dastan turned his head at Garsiv's furious order. The middle prince looked, if possible, angrier than Tamina had, one hand already resting on his sword. For once Dastan could find no comment to make on that. Not when he saw the phantom darts that seemed to stick out of Garsiv's chest, the thin line of blood beginning to seep from the side of his mouth. His brother looked at the guards, his hand tightening on the sword. At his movements the phantom darts seemed to be driven deeper, bringing him closer to death.

"What's going on? Dastan?"

Dastan turned his head to see Bis standing there. Bis, whose shirt now bore a wide stain of blood from where the men had sliced him open as he tried to defend him. Dastan choked on nothing, tearing his eyes away from his friend and squeezing them shut. But the vision remained, in all its cruel glory. Tamina twisted and broken, Tus with his throat slit, Garsiv with darts embedded in his chest, Bis impaled and his father. Oh God, Sharaman with his skin eaten with acid from a robe Dastan himself had handed to him. A robe Dastan had been too lazy to handle with his own hand, to check for a threat he had no way of knowing was there.

This time there was no swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat.

No more than he could fight the quick spin of the world or the lurch of his head. The smell of his own blood reached his nose, the rusty tang worse than the acidic reek of vomit. The image of their bodies played in his head, an image too clear to be just a nightmare. Suddenly the weight of what happened, of all that had happened, was too much. His knees buckled, bringing his body to the ground. The guards scrambled to make up for the sudden change in movement, their hands scrambling to accommodate him but it was too late.

The last thing Dastan was aware of was his cheek striking the marble.

Then the miserable world went blissfully dark.