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"SPARE YOU?" BURHAN ABELHAMID—ANCIENT ARAB'S DEADLIEST swordsman let out then, as though the tahararat min alkhatiya had uttered something that hadn't been at the forefront of the former's mind.

His curious expression—though only deciphered from his pitch black eyes for the lower half of his face was covered—melted away into amusement then as he let out a small laugh.

"Do not tell me that I scare you, noble tahararat min alkhatiya," The killer mused. "For it is the highest form of flattery coming from you alone."

"You don't—," The former genie broke off, his jaw tight and his facial expression scrunched in pain.

Even amidst her disbelief, Dilruba's heart tightened when she looked at the former genie. Allah, what was the extent of the emotional anguish he was suffering with? For she had seen glimpses of so much pain on the tahararat min alkhatiya's face. Could it all be because of Burhan? Because of Burhan Abelhamid?

"I do not fear you, Burhan, I fear for you."

The notorious gangster's eyes hardened into fury.

"Come now, do not fear for me, Bahjat," The killer grinned then, switching from fury back to an amusement. "You know me better than to worry."

Dilruba shut her eyes tightly. Bahjat. He had given the tahararat min alkhatiya a name, for freed genies do not have names. They did not have names when they were bound by their lamps and they were not allowed names after they were freed, for they were to repent and disappear amongst men so that they never held themselves apart to any importance again—no names so that the beings became insignificant. For they had once possessed such power, why should they be given a name as well? In Arabic culture and the religion of the lands, names held power too.

By giving a tahararat min alkhatiya a name, a mortal would only being curses and displeasure upon oneself, but giving a genie a name? When the being was still bound by the lamp and possessed power? That was everlasting—it was emotionally binding.

And suddenly, Dilruba understood the pain in the tahararat min alkhatiya's manner whenever he had spoken of Abelhamid—Burhan—to her. Except, she hadn't known it was Burhan he had talked about all that time. She hadn't known that it was her savior, her Burhan, who had turned out to be the nightmare and threat that had engulfed all that she seemed to know at present.

"Don't," The tahararat min alkhatiya managed, his fists tightening at his sides as his eyes remained tightly shut. He seemed to be fighting with himself, pushing something away—a battle that Dilruba could not see.

"Why, Bahjat?" Burhan uttered, "Did you not miss me? How long has it been?"

The former genie hissed and Dilruba startled, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Stop!" She cried out, defiance blazing in her eyes as she looked at the thug. "You are hurting him!"

She got up from the edge of the room where she was still sitting, and rushed to the former genie's side, laying a hand gently on his muscled elbow. Her hand seemed so small compared his giant arm, she feared her touch would only annoy him.

"Please," She tried softly. "It's alright. Don't let him hurt you, you are stronger than that."

Dilruba Badawi had no knowledge of the extent of the emotional pain the tahararat min alkhatiya was going through. A name he was given in his past life would have brought back all the emotional bindings he had had with Abelhamid. All of his past embedded in a name, and perhaps even more that Dilruba was not even aware of. By giving him a name in his past life in the lamp, Burhan had made the former genie his dog—he had wrapped a leash around the being's neck and though his golden cuffs tying him to the lamp were now gone, the invisible leash would forever remain for Abelhamid to whip out at his own sick pleasure.

"I'm not—," Burhan let out then, breaking off as he exhaled. "I was not trying to. I did not come here to hurt him, nor did I come here to hurt you."

His hard manner dissolved then, and Dilruba tore her eyes away from him to look at the tahararat min alkhatiya, sighing softly as she found him stabilized. The former genie had opened his eyes, and though his gaze was blank, she was in relief for the lack of the earlier pain he was experiencing.

"Then why did you come here?" Dilruba looked at Burhan again, anger staining her voice.

"Why did you come here if not to finish you started?" She cried, "Were you worried that your man had not done a good enough job on me? Or that the tahararat min alkhatiya would save me? Does it hurt your pride that we escaped your men?"

Burhan's jaw tightened, a vein bulging out at his neck as he stepped closer to her. Dilruba didn't back away, standing in front of the former genie—covering him while the being composed himself—as though she owed it to him now.

"You seem to have such notions about my pride, farashat rayiea," The gangster muttered, his baritone hard and amused as his gaze refused to leave hers.

"I did not know you were in the palace when we attacked," He uttered then, his eyes dropping to her body before flickering up to meet her eyes.

She was in that blue sparkling fabric that he had paid for at the marketplace yesterday, and the thought of him beside her that day made Dilruba's resolve stumble and her eyes ache.

"If I had known—," He broke off, swallowing thickly.

"What would you have done? Had you known?" Dilruba managed, "Would you not have attacked? Or would you have assured I never made it out of the courtyard alive like all the other guests your men killed?"

His eyes flashed something as he took another step closer, and now he was only inches away from her.

"No," He muttered. "I would have used those bodies to build a path for you to safety. I would have stopped everything while you passed, and I would have resumed when I knew you were safe."

Dilruba's brows furrowed, the ache in her eyes sharpening. What was he doing? Why was he still talking to her this way? Why was he still pretending that he was the same person that he been at the marketplace yesterday? He wasn't. He was more than just a killer of a cruel dwarf. He was a crook, a thief, a usurper. He was a ruthless criminal. He was not the same Burhan.

"I think I came here to apologize, on behalf of my man," Burhan spoke then, his eyes spotting the head of his companion on the ground where he had tossed it. "He hurt you, so I killed the fucker. You were not supposed to be involved in this, farashat rayiea."

Burhan met her eyes again, his gaze sharp and suddenly full of accusation.

"Why are you involved in this?" He asked harshly. "Why the fuck were you at the palace? Why did you not leave with the guests and all the royalty that managed to escape?"

Dilruba's lips parted to answer, but no words came to her. What could she say? That her cousin and uncle had just left her behind? That she was at the palace in the first place because she was being paid to be there and perform, instead of being a family guest? All of it was belittling to share. And why didn't he know? The tahararat min alkhatiya had spoken of her relation with the Sultan and the Princess, in order to threaten Burhan's man into letting go of her. Hadn't he told his leader? Hadn't Abelhamid listened before he had severed the man's head clean off his body?

It would be treason if she told him of her association with the royal family of Agrabah. Had not the tahararat min alkhatiya said so? Her prior acquaintance—regardless of how riddled with lies and hidden truths it had been—with Burhan Abelhamid, was treason.

"I—," She spoke, glancing at her back to look at the former genie, and she found him still dazed-the man's gaze fixed on the moon in a trance.

"What is your name, farashat rayiea?" The notorious thug uttered then, as though he cared nothing for the state that the tahararat min alkhatiya was presently in.

She met his eyes, his black eyes glinting fiercely at her as he took another step closer. Allah, he was so close now, she could only inch a little forwards and their noses would brush together.

Abelhamid's ebony irises dropped briefly to her lips, before flickering up to her eyes.

"Tell me your name, farashat rayiea," He pressed, his voice hard, words adamant on his tongue.

"Why?" She breathed, "You seem to use names to torture people. You hurt the tahararat min alkhatiya with the name you gave him."

"We have a history, farashat rayiea," The man let out, "I did not mean to hurt him. He should not be so vulnerable as to be hurt so easily, he should not be such a disgrace to the might he once possessed that a given name would be enough to cower him."

"Stop," She cried out, "Who are you to discard his vulnerability? Who are you to raise claims of his disgrace when you are the one with blood drenched hands and a cruel heart."

He exhaled sharply, tearing his eyes away from her as he gathered his composure, willing not to let his anger over power him. He met her eyes again, his irises determined.

He stared into her eyes for a beat, before he grabbed her arm—his hard and warm palm encasing around her elbow firmly—and dragged her away from the still dazed presence of the former genie.

She gasped, and before she knew it, her back was pressed harshly against a wall and the usurper was dangerously close to her, breathing hard on her face as his eyes bore heavily in hers.

"Tell me your name," Burhan Abelhamid uttered then, his voice a gruff, anguished whisper as his kohl-lined anthracite eyes bore into hers with a new ferocity.

"I need to know your name," He continued in desperation as he held her captive against the wall, an arm snaking around her bare waist and another resting against the darkened wall beside her head as he pressed her to it.

She gasped again with the feeling of his bare arm holding the back of her bare waist. Her skin prickled, and something fluttered aggressively in the pit of her stomach.

"Tell me your name and I will have all of Arabia chant it alongside mine, etching it in every sand dune that these lands will ever bear, so that they can understand who finally brought Burhan Abelhamid—with his blood drenched hands and his cruel heart—to his knees."

Dilruba's heart was pounding in her ears, blood rushing to her face as she fought to stay grounded. Her emerald eyes were fearful in his, as she desperately tried to make sense of his words.

"Tell me your name," He breathed again, before frustration coursed through him as he grunted, the hand he had resting beside her head on the wall, forming into a fist as he punched the wall.

"Damn it, farashat rayiea," He let out, his breath hot on her cheekbone. "You must give me your name."

"Dilruba," The Hegran girl blurted out then, her heart pounding now in her throat as Burhan Abelhamid's eyes sharpened in hers.

"My name is Dilruba Badawi," She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Dilruba," He uttered her name, and the sound of it was almost divine in his hard baritone, making chills cascade down her back.

"Who are you to my enemies, Dilruba?" Abelhamid asked then, his dark eyes flashing something as they examined every dip and rise of Dilruba's face as though he was an artist examining art that he wanted to but could never mimic.

"I need to know why I found you amongst my enemies this time," He breathed, his eyes resting in hers again. "Could fate have fucked up our meetings this time?"

"Why do you need to know?" She whispered, shutting her eyes briefly and silently agreeing that fate indeed had messed up this time.

"Why do you need to know so much when you gave me nothing about who you were?" She asked, her eyes stinging as her whisper cracked. "You let me believe that you were wonderful, and so kind to me. You made a fool of me."

Dilruba thought of Jasmine and Aladdin slipping away to escape at the first sign of danger at the wedding festivities, leaving the Hegran girl to obliviously dance for guests who were about to be slaughtered. She was left to be killed. Perhaps she only had herself to blame for others around her making her feel like a fool. She was giving them the power to demean her, why was she doing it?

"Do you want me to apologize for hiding a side of me from you?" He asked, his voice firm as he tightened his hold around her waist slightly.

"Because I will, but let me assure you Dilruba Badawi, had I not hidden it, you would not have even looked at me," His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before he met her eyes again. "I realized that the day I saved you and that child from off that street."

Dilruba's brows furrowed softly as she peered into his eyes. She remembered how harsh his words had been to her that day after he had saved her. Then he had.. changed. He had switched from his anger and his tone had become softer. He had never been mean to her again in the next two times she had come across him. Had he deliberately pushed a side of him back for her? Dilruba did not know how to feel about such a thing.

What was better, people changing themselves for you, or people being just who they were—cruel or otherwise, in front of you?

"I wouldn't have," Dilruba managed then, defiance in her voice. "Had I known who you were, I would never have—"

Her words were broken mid speech, for Burhan Abelhamid had yanked at the cloth covering the lower half of his face, leaving it on full display a moment before he pressed his lips hard against hers, taking her breath away. She tried to push him away, but her weak arms held nothing against the force of the passion tracing the thug's movements for he—with his arm already at the small of her waist—pressed her close against his form. He set her lips apart with his own and plunged his tongue inside her mouth, meeting hers as he kissed her deeply.

He tasted of smoke and rain, his warm lips felt almost divine to her, his tongue against hers was an ecstasy she could never have imagined in her wildest dreams. 

Dilruba Badawi's protesting hands gave in, and she found herself—against her better judgement—reciprocating the kiss. Something in her stomach flapped its wings wildly, begging to be let free, and her heart soared inside her, swelling by the second, making her fear that it would suffocate in the minimal space inside her ribcage and choke her in its elevation. One of her hands travelled to the back of his neck, her fingers slightly in his hair as she held his head. Her other hand was on his chest, her palm feeling the beating of his heart against his rock hard chest.

Dilruba broke the kiss to breathe, panting as her confused eyes peered in his. He too breathed heavily, his own black eyes masked with a hazy sheen that seemed to signify his lust co-existing with the desire displayed on his face.

"Your words wound me," He whispered then, his voice thick. "They slash at me like fucking daggers."

She blinked, her gaze dropping briefly before she met his eyes again. Her lips parted to say something—anything, but a physical sheathing sound was heard and Dilruba's eyes widened as she caught the glint of a blade right beside Burhan. He heard the sound and he noticed her shock, but his defenses were grievously unalert at present, and before he could turn and lash at the attacker at his back, a sword was thrust into the side of his waist and three men pounced on top of him, shouting their shouts as they tried to cower him.

He was pulled away from her as he grunted in pain and tried to fight off the men upon him whilst the sword was still stuck deep into his side.

Dilruba screamed, her trembling hands covering her mouth as she glanced towards where the tahararat min alkhatiya had stood. He was not alone, for the former genie was now being supported in his still dazed state by none other than the lanky form of Aladdin and the rachet monkey at the new Prince of Agrabah's shoulder. 

Dilruba saw the Sultan standing a few yards in front of her, whilst Abelhamid was being tackled on the ground in between them, with Jasmine at his side, both of them gaped at her, the moon light shining upon the Sultan's round and stout form and the Princess' slender and thin presence, while a palace guard dressed in a cream turban and cream trousers under a brown shirt stood vigilant beside the royals.

She looked away from her uncle and cousin, and back at Burhan. He was now pressed against the floor, unmoving, as the three men—who Dilruba now realized were also palace guards, from their uniforms—were holding him down with all their might.

Panic and fear swallowed her composure whole.

"No, please," She cried on reflex, and without thinking, extended a shaking and hesitant hand towards Abelhamid's unmoving form.

Had they killed him? Something inside her tore viciously, pain engulfing her chest.

"Dilruba!" Jasmine's high voice was heard as Dilruba's eyes stung with tears.

She looked at her cousin, suddenly realizing with full force the horror and.. contempt? In the newly wed Princess' eyes. The Sultan's shock had transformed into plain anger.

Dilruba did not know when they had arrived. Had carpet brought them in through the missing wall? Or had they sneaked up the stairs and used the door of the flat like Burhan might've had? 

She did not know, but she knew what they had seen. She knew what they had heard. What they had seen and heard, was only a fragment of all that had happened. It was fragment that Dilruba would destroy before it ever met their gaze, if she could. But her hands could only control so much. How fate and time worked could never be in any mortal's grasp.

"What were you doing?" Jasmine yelled, her voice shrill as it reverberated in the silent air.

Burhan Abelhamid was unmoving on the ground, so there were no sounds of struggle. The flat the tahararat min alkhatiya had sought refuge with Dilruba in, was entirely silent, save for Jasmine's anger and the wind blowing outside.

"He is Abelhamid!" She cried out, "He is a criminal! He attacked my wedding, he ran the Sultan out of his throne! My father!"

Dilruba shook her head, a hand on her heart as she tried to form words.

"Who is he to you?" The girl shrieked, and Dilruba almost fell to her knees.

Had not Burhan asked her a similar question too?

"Who are you to my enemies, Dilruba?"

And now her cousin was asking the very same question, but roles reversed. Who was Dilruba to anyone? Why had she ever assumed she was anything to anyone?

"How long were you working with him, you treacherous snake?" Jasmine shouted again, her voice almost horrific in its intensity.

The dark haired Agraban Princess broke away from her father's side and neared Dilruba with hatred sparking in the girl's darkened eyes.

A fluttering sound was heard then, and carpet was instantly in front of Dilruba, as though she had sensed Jasmine's intentions. The Hegran girl's eyes dropped to look at carpet, a feeling of gratitude swirling inside her heart for carpet's belief in her. Allah, Dilruba had known carpet for only a few hours. Truly, did it matter how long you knew someone? When belief and trust was so pure and timeless?

"Carpet, move!" Jasmine screamed, and carpet shrunk in fear, hugging Dilruba's legs and wrapping herself around the Hegran girl's torso like a shield.

"You worthless whore," The words ripped out from between Jasmine's lips then, and Dilruba was astounded at the ferocity of her cousin's feelings.

"We opened the palace to you—our home!" The girl raised a hand and it came in sharp contact with Dilruba's face.

The Hegran court dancer's head whipped to a side, and her face erupted in a blinding pain, her right ear going entirely deaf. Dilruba forced herself to lift her face and look into her cousin's eyes again, and Jasmine only found the defiance trigger more of her hatred and anger.

She raised her hand again, and this time, Dilruba caught the girl's wrist with her own hand, stopping her attack midway.

Dilruba knew she had to speak and defend herself, but would any of them listen? Would they listen when they had all formed their own assumptions? What was the point of making them understand when they had only hated her from the start? When all they needed was an excuse to officially turn their back on her and publicly cut her off, when they had been doing the same since so many years? Only this time, it would be justified, would it not? They could claim that the Sultan's niece was accused of treason, and collectively, all of Agrabah would applaud their desertion of her.

"You will not touch me again, cousin," Dilruba managed, as Jasmine yanked her arm away from the Hegran girl's hold with a cry of anger.

Dilruba glanced at her uncle, only to find him looking at her with the same anger he had initially decided upon before Jasmine's confrontation. The Hegran girl steeled her heart, her imploring eyes seeking the tahararat min alkhatiya next, but the former genie was unresponsive, his eyes still clouded in a daze that the impact of the name Burhan had given him, had had on him. The former genie was not even facing her, for he still looked at the moon like a lost dog, while Aladdin stood with an arm around him, offering him consolations that the tahararat min alkhatiya probably was not hearing.

Dilruba shut her eyes in dismay, if the former genie could speak, he would defend her, would he not? He would speak for her when she could not for herself. He was her friend. Allah, the tahararat min alkhatiya was the only friend she had at present and Dilruba needed him back again.

"Father! I want her put in the dungeons!" Jasmine shouted then, her eyes full of hatred as they bore into Dilruba's.

Dilruba noticed the lack of emotions like disappointment, dismay, and melancholy in her cousin's eyes. It was as though the Agraban Princess had jumped straight to anger and hatred, as though those two were the only available emotions she had at hand—as though those were the only two emotions she wanted to use. 

"Guard," She did not wait for the Sultan's response, turning towards the only unoccupied guard standing beside her father.

"Take her," The Princess ordered, "I want her to rot in the east side dungeons of the city with all the filth we have there, whilst we work at getting the palace back. If she isn't dead by then, we shall have her transferred to the palace dungeons and change tactics."

Dilruba Badawi tried to breathe, her mind feeling numb and her heart losing its rhythm. Her legs shook, but before she could stumble on her feet, the guard was beside her, harshly gripping her arm and starting to drag her away to the door of the flat.

Carpet was still wrapped around the girl's torso, and she protested Dilruba's descent, but her small tassels did nothing to hold Dilruba back.

The Hegran court dancer glanced over her shoulder as she let herself be dragged away. She glanced at the still dazed figure of the tahararat min alkhatiya, and she glanced at the unmoving form of Burhan Abelhamid on the ground, as the guards pinning him down relaxed somewhat when he didn't move. Before she could turn her eyes away then, the notorious thug moved slightly and the guards pounced on him again.

But Dilruba could watch no more for she had already been dragged out the door. She turned her head away, stumbling down the wonky and night darkened stairs that led down from the flat she had been brought to by the former genie. She heard the shouts escalating from the flat, she heard the sounds of the struggle, she heard the guards' yells mixed in with Jasmine's shouts and the Sultan's angry exclamations. Dilruba did not know what was happening up there, but treacherously, she wanted the Sultan and the Princess to fall in face of Abelhamid—if only briefly, so that the formers knew what it felt like, what it felt like to be killed.

The guard gripped her harshly, tearing her away from her thoughts and dragging her as though she was an animal and if he could, he would be glad to drag her down by her hair alone. 

Carpet moved with her, refusing to let her go and shielding her body from falling against the dangerous stairs.

"Carpet," Dilruba breathed, "Please carpet, let me go."

"Go back, you don't belong where they are sending me," She managed, her voice cracking. "Please tell the tahararat min alkhatiya what has happened. Tell him that I—I made a mistake and I cannot reverse it. Tell him that I keep making mistakes—and I'm so so sorry for everything."

Carpet distanced herself from Dilruba, reluctantly unwrapping her fabric body from Dilruba's and freezing in determination of the responsibility of the message she had been asked to relay. Dilruba nodded once at carpet, who—now left standing two stairs behind—seemed to nod back before she spun away and fluttered out of view.

But the guard dragging Dilruba down the stairs seemed to have realized that the task was perhaps taking too much of his effort. So abruptly he let Dilruba go, and just as she swayed slightly and rested her hand on the wall in order to steady herself and catch her breath, he kicked at her legs viciously from behind as she screamed in horror before her knees bended, body twisted and she went tumbling down the stairs head first, sickening thuds punctuating the air with her descent. 

The guard raised a hand to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, hearing Dilruba's horrified scream echo as it dulled into silence, her body disappearing out of view at the end of the staircase. Then he began his own jog down the stairs, relieved to have found an easier way of handling his given task.