Magic Words {2/4}afterandalasiaSeptember 30 2011, 12:35:10 UTC
"Then all the same... thank you, Aladdin," Jasmine said, and the woman's smile turned shy and left her heart fluttering.
---
That night she wept when Jafar told her that the woman had been put to death. Because for one moment, when Aladdin's hand had brushed against hers, and when they had sat in the wide window of her dwelling and looked out over the city, she had not felt as if the whole world was built wrongly.
---
The announcement of the arrival of a new prince two days later left her angrier than usual, anger seeping in where boredom had once made its home. She crossed to her balcony for barely a moment to hear the singing and the music, see the grand parade; it had been many a year since a man had bought such self-certain finery with him, since the rumours had started to spread that the Princess of Agrabah would accept no hand in marriage. A figure in white and gold stood atop the back of an elephant, scooping handfuls of gold coins to scatter among the crowds; one way to make people adore you, she supposed, was to show them a moment of hope which they would never relive again.
She rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hands as she returned to her chambers. Let this arrogant prince made a fool of himself on his own time.
---
In the end, though, her curiosity won out. She had developed a grim fascination with the princes who chose to parade themselves in front of her like peacocks; mostly, she wondered what ridiculous thing they would do, or say, or how much of a fool the latest one could make themselves appear. There were passages in the walls that belonged to the oldest histories of the palace, the days of harems and hidden women, and Jasmine knew them well by now. She had learnt at a young age that her life would be at its easiest if she were invisible to the world.
She stood now in a hidden area behind her father's throne, watching through latticed wood and a shimmering veil of fabric as a flying carpet swooped in through the wide windows. She could not help the faintest curl of her lip in disgust at the display. Surely it did not take much to think of magic used to help people, rather than for some display of wealth or power.
The look faded, though, as the figure stepped down from the carpet and bowed before her father. Jasmine's lips parted in astonishment, her eyebrows rising and one hand rising to her breast as if to hold her heart beneath her skin.
"Prince Aladdin of Ababwa."
They gave a dashing bow, then straightened up with a swish of a cloak. Two astonished looks were made clear: the Sultan's and Jafar's. But Jasmine's joined them still.
After all, of all the princes that had come to Agrabah, never had they been female.
Of course, Jasmine's gaze must have been more incredulous even than her father's, or that of the vizier. She was the only one who had seen the woman in the marketplace, the one who had held her hand and run with her through the streets, the one who had laughed at her jokes and stared into her eyes with the wonder that only finally-thwarted loneliness could feel.
"This is most irregular--" her father began, and Jasmine willed for him to be quiet as she ran for the nearest door out of the corridors, one that would take her into the main Palace rooms.
"In my Kingdom," she heard Aladdin faintly reply, "we do not say such things. I have come a great distance to meet your fair daughter, Sultan; the stories of her beauty have travelled far."
By the time that Jasmine reached the door, she could barely remember to pretend that she had never met Aladdin before. Her mind whirled with questions: how could Aladdin live still? How could a woman be a prince? And how could a prince appear in the guise of a street rat?
"Father?" she asked as she entered the room. All three of the figures there turned to look at her, and when she saw the faint smile that appeared on Aladdin's face she could have thrown herself into the woman's arms there and then. "What is going on?"
"Princess, perhaps it would be best if you were not here," said Jafar. His words were meant to be slick, she supposed; they came out downright oily. "This is a matter which needs to be dealt with."
---
That night she wept when Jafar told her that the woman had been put to death. Because for one moment, when Aladdin's hand had brushed against hers, and when they had sat in the wide window of her dwelling and looked out over the city, she had not felt as if the whole world was built wrongly.
---
The announcement of the arrival of a new prince two days later left her angrier than usual, anger seeping in where boredom had once made its home. She crossed to her balcony for barely a moment to hear the singing and the music, see the grand parade; it had been many a year since a man had bought such self-certain finery with him, since the rumours had started to spread that the Princess of Agrabah would accept no hand in marriage. A figure in white and gold stood atop the back of an elephant, scooping handfuls of gold coins to scatter among the crowds; one way to make people adore you, she supposed, was to show them a moment of hope which they would never relive again.
She rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hands as she returned to her chambers. Let this arrogant prince made a fool of himself on his own time.
---
In the end, though, her curiosity won out. She had developed a grim fascination with the princes who chose to parade themselves in front of her like peacocks; mostly, she wondered what ridiculous thing they would do, or say, or how much of a fool the latest one could make themselves appear. There were passages in the walls that belonged to the oldest histories of the palace, the days of harems and hidden women, and Jasmine knew them well by now. She had learnt at a young age that her life would be at its easiest if she were invisible to the world.
She stood now in a hidden area behind her father's throne, watching through latticed wood and a shimmering veil of fabric as a flying carpet swooped in through the wide windows. She could not help the faintest curl of her lip in disgust at the display. Surely it did not take much to think of magic used to help people, rather than for some display of wealth or power.
The look faded, though, as the figure stepped down from the carpet and bowed before her father. Jasmine's lips parted in astonishment, her eyebrows rising and one hand rising to her breast as if to hold her heart beneath her skin.
"Prince Aladdin of Ababwa."
They gave a dashing bow, then straightened up with a swish of a cloak. Two astonished looks were made clear: the Sultan's and Jafar's. But Jasmine's joined them still.
After all, of all the princes that had come to Agrabah, never had they been female.
Of course, Jasmine's gaze must have been more incredulous even than her father's, or that of the vizier. She was the only one who had seen the woman in the marketplace, the one who had held her hand and run with her through the streets, the one who had laughed at her jokes and stared into her eyes with the wonder that only finally-thwarted loneliness could feel.
"This is most irregular--" her father began, and Jasmine willed for him to be quiet as she ran for the nearest door out of the corridors, one that would take her into the main Palace rooms.
"In my Kingdom," she heard Aladdin faintly reply, "we do not say such things. I have come a great distance to meet your fair daughter, Sultan; the stories of her beauty have travelled far."
By the time that Jasmine reached the door, she could barely remember to pretend that she had never met Aladdin before. Her mind whirled with questions: how could Aladdin live still? How could a woman be a prince? And how could a prince appear in the guise of a street rat?
"Father?" she asked as she entered the room. All three of the figures there turned to look at her, and when she saw the faint smile that appeared on Aladdin's face she could have thrown herself into the woman's arms there and then. "What is going on?"
"Princess, perhaps it would be best if you were not here," said Jafar. His words were meant to be slick, she supposed; they came out downright oily. "This is a matter which needs to be dealt with."
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