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DILRUBA BADAWI WOKE UP IN AN UNFAMILLIAR PLACE.

Her emerald eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness in the room, for yes, she was in a high ceiling room—with the darkened ceiling being her fight sight and the softness her back was pressed against—a bed—being her first sensation. Then the seconds followed for each of her senses, and then the thirds.

She felt the sweet cold winds dancing in the room and caressing her skin, flowing in from the—

Dilruba startled slightly as she gathered herself slowly up to a sitting position on the bed. The room she was in, was alarmingly spacious, and the windows she sought to thank the pathway of the sweet cool winds were nonexistent. Two whole adjacent walls in the room were missing, and moonlight poured in sharply now that her eyes had adjusted, illuminating everything in sight.

The moon was right there, a full moon once again, gaping at her as it glowed—fixed in the sky like a jewel from a wealthy concubine's armoire.

Beneath the moon, and from the glorious sight offered by the two missing adjacent wall, Dilruba saw.. the entirety of East Arabia?

She gasped, a wind fluttering her long curled hair and pushing it back from off her shoulders.

The palace of Agrabah—with it's distinct collection of cream daunting domes—was the size of her fingernail and was surrounded by the even smaller fractions of the haphazard municipality of the city of Agrabah, houses and buildings slightly gleaming as they lay spattered and dotted around the palace. The entire city of her uncle and cousin, was just the size of Dilruba's palm now, and the distance all around it as far as she could see, was all the intimidating sands of the desert.

Far to the right of Agrabah, was another city just the size of her palm too, and Dilruba Badawi had to strain her eyes to try and recognize it. She could not, for she had never ventured towards the east of Arabia, neither sent by the governor for appointments and neither going on her own accord. Granted, she had never truly went anywhere on her own accord if not sanctioned by the governor of Hegra.

But from her knowledge, she supposed the city to be that of Thāj. Thāj was the lesser neighbor of Agrabah—the only close neighbor, though its meek beauty had often inspired poets and artists for centuries. But the city had no material wealth, prizing itself for only possessing spiritual value.

"Your departure is not a tragedy," Dilruba spoke softly, her eyes fixed on the city of Thāj, the municipality much smaller than its neighbor, but gleaming like a pearl from this distance beside the gold like regality of Agrabah.

"Your departure is not a tragedy," She repeated Lufti Qabbani's verse, one of the most influential poets in her life, who was born in the city of Thāj eighty nine years ago.

"For I am like a willow tree, that always dies while standing."

She finished the verse with a sigh. Qabbani was another poet who had given up on sharing his craft thirty five years ago. He had went into seclusion in Thāj, after the Sultan of his city had been overthrown for governance and had been replaced with a man appointed by democracy—a governor.

Qabbani had written a verse expressing his displeasure at the notion that a mere mortal devoid of royal blood had sullied the throne of a Sultan that he believed to be the reflection of Allah on earth. Qabbani believed Sultans in general were reflections of the divinity, and though it was hard for many to align their beliefs with that of a poet, even if they enjoyed the scripture of the artists, it was easy to understand the depth of the feeling that backed all their beliefs up.

So when Qabbani had retired himself, many of his devoted followers had mourned, but they had also accepted.

Dilruba wondered if the poet was still alive at eighty nine, for poets in seclusion often died off and nobody knew until years after.

She turned her eyes away from Thāj, taking in the gaping desert surrounding both the cities and filling in the enormous distance between the cities and the point where she was.

Allah, where was she? 

This room, it was a home. Aside from the adequately made bed, Dilruba saw the red and black patterned carpeting in the spacious room. She saw mud pots of various sizes lined up against a wall. There was a kitchen area sectioned far. off to her left, with pots and pans and a stove with a burner. A series of ten small ceramic cups were hung above the stove from small hooks in the wall. A little away from the kitchen, but still separated from the living area, was a copper tub used probably for bathing.

There was also a wooden box at the side of the bed being used as a side table, and on it Dilruba spotted whitling materials. There was a worn down knife, a chisel, bits of sharpened pieces of stone, and.. a ring.

Dilruba reached for a silver ring that caught her eye with its glint. She picked it up and immediately recognized it. It was Burhan's silver ring, the carved one he always wore at his pointer finger on his right hand.

She turned the weighty ring in her hand, her emerald eyes tracing the inscription carved upon the ring. She could not understand the language, for it wasn't Arabic, nor any of its dialect variations. It was an entirely foreign language, and curiosity sparked in her chest.

She put the ring aside, back on the wooden makeshift side table and glanced around the room again.

Was this Burhan's room? Was this where he lived, hidden away in the desert overlooking Agrabah and Thāj from the views he was afforded from this room?

Instinctively, Dilruba edged herself towards the end of the bed, and her body moved like liquid—swift and smooth. She stopped and placed a slow hand on her lower stomach. All of her initial pains she was suffering with in that cell were gone. She wore no bandages, no scars, no remaining pains.

Her heart tightened in her chest. It had to be the tahararat min alkhatiya. Why was he doing this? First he had healed her after that attack on the palace, then he had stopped her from starving in that cell, and now he had healed her from more of her injuries? Why was he doing it? Why was he damning himself by making use of magic now that he was no longer a genie?

Dilruba shuddered to think of all that she knew—or had learned and heard—would happen to the tahararat min alkhatiya if they continued using magic after they were freed. Their afterlives would be hell, with fire quelling their screams while they trembled for all of eternity. She did not know how it worked, how a tahararat min alkhatiya was to go about asking for magic that he no longer had and what price was involved, but Allah, why was it being done for her? What had she done to deserve such sacrifices?

Her eyes stung as she slowly got off the bed. Her bare feet touched the carpeted floor and she stood to her full height, closing her eyes briefly as she reveled in the feeling of being able to stand up when she felt she hadn't for days.

Dilruba had been in that cell for three days until Burhan Abelhamid had taken her away from there. But then, how long had she been here? In Burhan's room? His home?

Nervously, she held her elbow and realized she was still in her battered peacock ensemble from her ill-fated performance at Jasmine's wedding.

The glittering blue fabric had dimmed now, though it still shone somewhat. But Dilruba was almost scared to look at herself in a mirror, fearful of the actual state of her.

As the thought of the looking glass crossed her mind, she spotted one in the shape of a small clean circle nailed high to the wall against which the mud pots were lined up.

She walked up to the mirror, and was greeted with the unkempt sight of herself against the light of the moon. Her hair was so messy but still curled, and her face had leftover smudged makeup with splotches of dirt across her cheek and her neck.

Her body was still laden in the jewelry she had worn at her peacock themed performance, and Dilruba did not think twice before raising her slightly shaking fingers to take her jewelry out.

The bejeweled earrings and the heavy necklace soon made a small glittering pile on the edge of the bed, and Dilruba then started taking out her elaborate bangles to add to the pile, leaving her thin gold everyday bangles on her wrists that she hid under her performing jewelry. She took out her heavy anklets next, and added them to the pile.

It was then, that she heard heavy footsteps climbing.. stairs?

She stopped and turned her head to follow the sound, quickly realizing that one of the missing walls had a stair going down at the edge that she hadn't seen before.

Someone was now making their way up those stairs, and Dilruba's heart constricted in nervous fear as she could do nothing but watch, her feet glued to her spot.

When had she grown this scared of mere footsteps? Ever since Agrabah, her heart had started fearing every single thing. The city was cruel to her, and not once had it been kind enough to offer her anything but fear and hurt. But she wasn't in the city now, for was not Agrabah so far away in her view that her uncle's palace was no bigger than a finger nail?

An unfamiliar head appeared at the stairs, a man dressed entirely in black—a black shirt and billowing black trousers against the wind, with his head uncovered and a deep middle part sporting curly brown hair flowing down till his shoulders.

The man saw her, his eyes stoic in a determined resolve as he heaved himself onto the ground of the room. Then, as she watched him, he brought both his hands to his front and joined them together at his stomach, holding himself straight and dipping his head only briefly at her before he met her eyes again.

Dilruba saw the familiar silver hinted dagger tied at the man's waist with a brown belt as his shoulder length curly hair flew in his face from the wind at his back.

"I hope you are comfortable, sayidati," The man spoke then, his voice gruff but centered and firm.

"I am under orders to ensure your protection here by our Rayis."

Dilruba's lips parted slowly. Rayis. Burhan was the leader of his men of thugs, bandits, swordfighters and usurpers. Why had she forgotten that detail in midst of her own troubles?

"If you have want for anything, please do not hesitate to call out to me," The man continued. "My name is Ghazi and I am second in command after the aleuquba of Khair."

Dilruba blinked, her hand reaching for her elbow as she held herself close. Khair must be the man who she had initially seen tailing Burhan, the man who had often taken him away on business whenever they were together, the man who had broken some part of her neck viciously before realizing that she was known by Burhan. Dilruba still remembered the horror in that man's eyes when he had let her go as though she had burned him.

"I came here to apologize on behalf of my man, he hurt you so I killed the fucker."

She swallowed as she remembered Abelhamid's words. He had killed his man. The aleuquba of Khair had been his death by the hands of his Rayis, because of what he had done to Dilruba.

"I am just downstairs, sayidati, in the guild. Merely call me once and I will be at your service."

Dilruba nodded at the man's words, her head elsewhere. She had heard Khair mention the guild to Burhan once, at Hajjar Dagher's abode. The guild must be some sort of court for Burhan's men, a private garrison for regroup and recharge, for practice and planning. This whole entire place was a building nestled cleverly in the thick of the desert, not to be found or come across, for those who probably ventured close thought of it as nothing more than a mirage.

She shuddered again. From being accused of treason, Dilruba had been brought straight into the lion's den. Why was she here at all? Allah, was she to remain in hiding because of her treason? Was she to forever be on the run because the Sultan and Princess of Agrabah will have her head if she was seen?

Where was the tahararat min alkhatiya? Was he with her uncle and cousin, helping her secretly here and playing both fields? Would he try and change the hatred that the Sultan and Jasmine were feeling towards Dilruba? Would he defend her to the only blood family she truly has left so that she would not have to spend her life in hiding?

But if he was helping her, why would he leave her with Abelhamid? Why would he leave her alone in the pit of treason? Was not she incriminating herself more just by being here? How would she ever defend herself?

Burhan Abelhamid had saved her from that cell, but what did he mean by bringing her here? What did he mean by trying to reduce all the prestige and respect she had built for herself in her life to the darkness of treachery like his own? How dare he think he could do this to her? Allah, why had she allowed him to?

Staying in that cell would've been so much better. The Sultan and her cousin would perhaps have forgiven Dilruba, at least she would've seemed helpless and harmless enough to be pardoned. But now she had been broken out, and the guilt she never truly had in the first place had been confirmed.

"Where is Burhan?" She asked then, her voice soft even as hurt and anger prickled inside her.

Even this man that she was talking to—Ghazi—Allah, how many had he alone killed and hurt at Jasmine's wedding? How many had he alone killed under Abelhamid's orders since the man became the Rayis and leader?

"The mighty Rayis is away taking care of some business, sayidati," Ghazi uttered then, before he turned to the stairs and peered over the edge.

"Ahud!" He called in a hard voice, "Toss me the clothes!"

It was then that a sack of red jumped up against the night sky and Ghazi caught it swiftly in a single hand before using both hands to hold it and bring it towards Dilruba. He set the sack on the bed.

"These are clothes for you, sayidati," The man uttered, keeping his gaze briefly low before he met her eyes again.

"The great Rayis asked Ahud to get them from the marketplace for you, he did not specify which marketplace, so Ahud got them from Thāj," Ghazi uttered, voice slightly unsure. "He has a sister so it was assumed he would know better what to get. If you do not approve, I shall go myself to get you something else as soon as you let me know."

Dilruba bit her lip to disguise a smile, her eyes on the sack of clothes that she hadn't seen yet. Her anger seemed to have taken a back seat in face of the knowledge that a man had been asked on her behalf to get some clothes for her, and he had relied on his knowledge of his sister to go all the way to Thāj and back to get them for Dilruba.

She walked over to the sack on the bed, and was almost about to touch it when she drew away.

"No, you shouldn't have," She spoke, glancing at the man. "I am alright in the clothes I am wearing, I cannot accept—"

"The Rayis' orders are our commands, sayidati," Ghazi interrupted. "I shall give you your privacy. Please tell me if you need anything more or if the clothes aren't the kind that you require."

"Thank you," Dilruba managed, swallowing thickly.

"Wait, please," She added then, her eyes desperate on him. "Can you tell me how long I have been here?"

The man reaffirmed his position. "We brought you in yesterday, sayidati. The tahararat min alkhatiya gave you something—a healing concoction, and said that you will awake today, after which you need to be fed."

Dilruba Badawi startled at the mention of the tahararat min alkhatiya from the tongue of one of Burhan's men. Did they all know of their leader's history with the former genie? For the man was no friend to Abelhamid after whatever it was that had happened between them. They had only come across each other after the attack at Jasmine's wedding, hadn't they? So how much had Burhan told his own men?

And how come she had been brought over from a cell in Agrabah to here in just a day? Or a few hours? From what she could tell from the sight of Agrabah in the distance, the journey from there would take at least a week—or more if one had no directions at all—by foot or camel to cover the expanse of the deep desert. Had the carpet been employed use of?

Dilruba thought of carpet with a constricted heart, and wondered if her little new friend was alright. The carpet's embrace refusing to let Dilruba go when she had been accused of treason and was being taken away to what she had assumed to be her death, was not something the Hegran court dancer could easily forget.

"I will have dinner sent up to you soon, once Yunis and I are done making it," Ghazi added then, slowly retreating towards the stairs. "As I said, please let any of us know if you need anything at all. Some of our men are positioned at the palace in Agrabah, but most of us are still here. I am just downstairs and at your service."

Dilruba nodded, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear as she settled the man's words in her mind. The palace was still in Burhan and his men's possessions then, so her uncle and cousin were in hiding somewhere, planning and gathering support and soldiers to take back the palace.

"Also, sayidati, all your belongings from your flat in marketplace in Agrabah are being gathered by a few of our men. They will be brought here upon Rayis' orders."

The Hegran girl's lips parted, but she could not think of what to say. Gathering all her belongings was a lovely gesture, for it was all she had left of herself in Agrabah. Having it all back and close would be so nice. But why? Where would she keep her things? Here, in Burhan Abelhamid's room? Was she to stay here now? For how long? Allah, how can she live with a usurper and bandit?

"Thank you," She murmured instead, pushing her thoughts back, and the man nodded a brief nod before stepping down the stairs and disappearing from sight.

She walked towards the stairs then, curiosity making her peek down from the edge just after she was sure the man called Ghazi had gotten off and to the guild below. What Dilruba saw was a series of a wooden twisting staircase that opened up to one more floor beneath hers before it opened up to the ground floor where the guild was.

She could hear muffled conversation in dialect rising upwards—male voices laughing at a joke and other male voices comparatively authoritative as they ordered for the continuation of work and less of the joking around. Dilruba heard Ghazi's distinct voice as well, as it joined in a laugh and told some other man to give us a break.

She walked away from the edge of the room and back towards Burhan's bed, taking hold of the sack of clothes and opening it to pull the attire out.

The man called Ahud had gotten for her a very pretty orange blouse, the material of which gleamed a sheen of yellow in certain moonlit lighting as she moved it. There were matching billowing trousers, with the same colored material covered with a layer of yellow tulle that had tiny gems embedded which glittered when they caught the light.

Dilruba touched the clothing in admiration, it was so pretty and simple, everything that she could imagine the city of Thāj itself to be.

Then, her eyes met the glowing moon in the sky, and she thought of Burhan. What would she say to him when he came to her? Where even was he at present? The tahararat min alkhatiya had said that Abelhamid was a borrowed usurper. So could he now be somewhere negotiating with a governor of some city or a Sultan of some other city, or both? Could Burhan be somewhere taking money out of someone or promising them another try?

For he had failed in his usurpation hadn't he? He had failed somewhat. He had the palace yes, but as long as the Sultan was alive, he would not have the entirety of Agrabah. For the city would remain divided and loyal to the Sultan. The citizens would take up arms if they had to, to drive usurpers from the palace on behalf of the Sultan. He had even been jumped by the Sultan at one point, in that house that the tahararat min alkhatiya had brought Dilruba too, but Burhan had escaped that.

But still, the capture of the palace—the seat of the throne—was a good start. It was a monumental start at usurpation, and Dilruba was certain both Burhan and the men he was doing it for, knew it.

She made her way towards the kitchen, and checked the tap for water, which she started filling a mud pot with, emptying the pot into the bathtub afterwards and repeating the process. Her mind was a mess of questions and speculations being held at the throat by the thought of Burhan—his presence, his words to her, his motivations against her uncle. And all of it felt strangled under the present state of her. She needed a good scrub, freshly washed body and hair, and changed clothes, to be able to comprehend anything at all properly again.

When the tub was filled inches away from the brim with moderate warm water, Dilruba searched the kitchen for some soap for her body and hair. She had none of her own toiletries, and was anxious about using the jasmine scented soap she found, for her hair too, but she had no choice. Ahya used an oil concoction with crushed soap inside for Dilruba's hair, and it left the Hegran girl's long dark hair luscious, shining and smelling like heaven itself. But Dilruba had never inquired after the concoction or the kind of soap, and not that Ahya was lost or dead, Dilruba felt entirely helpless in matters where her own wellbeing was concerned.

She wiped a tear from her eye and brought the soap she found over to the tub. Under the light of the moon gleaming over her and casting shadows on the carpeted ground of the room, Dilruba started taking of her clothes, ridding herself of her performance attire with a sense of purpose.

Then, with her bare skin glistening under the moonlight, she stepped into the tub.

Dilruba washed herself, relying on her memory for exactly how her maid Ahya had did it for her. She scrubbed and cleaned, cleaning her face as well and not giving herself a moment to relax in the warm embrace of the water in the tub. The Hegran court dancer washed her hair thoroughly next, before scrunching the water out of it and pulling it into a thick knot at the crown of her head.

It was then, when she could think of no other cleaning step left, that she finally allowed herself to rest the back of her neck against the edge of the tub.

Dilruba had to wipe at her tears when her body gave its tensions to the water and her emotions came loose. All of her troubles were thick and gripping inside her. She missed Ahya and she missed the calm of her busy life in Hegra.

What was the governor of Hegra thinking? Did he know of everything that had happened in Agrabah? Allah, had Salman Chalhoub sent word to Hegra about Dilruba's confinement in the city dungeons? Did the advisor know of this information or had he fled Agrabah right after the attack at the wedding?

Dilruba knew she could fix things for herself. She merely had to leave and go back to Hegra. The governor would accept her into his patronage again—if he had assumed her dead of confinement—and she could go back to doing his bidding and taking his appointments and building her name again. Her life in Hegra was nothing like the chaos she had experienced in Agrabah.

Dilruba could go back to Hegra and everything would return to normal. Would not the governor protect her from her uncle and cousin's hatred? Sultans and Princesses had no authority in another governor's city, and no one adhered more to that fact than the governor of Hegra himself.

Dilruba could go back and none of the troubles she had felt in Agrabah would matter except the loss of Ahya. She could get a new maid, but not the same kind of friend, and that would hurt. But everything else would return to normal, and she would force herself to forget everything of Agrabah.

She would force herself to forget Burhan Abelhamid. The notorious usurper and thug who her body and heart seemed to always search in the darkness like she a was leper looking for salvation.

Dilruba touched her lips softly, thinking of his kiss again as her heart stirred in her chest. It had felt so.. divine. She had never been kissed before by a man, and despite everything she had imagined of such an act by looking at the sloppy gaping noblemen in her periphery at courts and gatherings with their concubines in their laps, she could never have imagined the desperate passion and hungry reality of the kiss that she had experienced.

She wanted Burhan in a way that she could not pin point. She wanted the usurper, the killer, Arab's deadliest swordsman—and she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to hear his voice in her ears again, she wanted him to hold her, to save her from everything and anything, again and again.

Dilruba tipped her head back when the memory of the feel of his breath against her skin invaded her, her eyes half closed when she heard a singular shuffle and her gaze whipped towards the edge of the room where a darkened figure stood on top of the point of the staircase, stepping onto the ground of the room.

Burhan Abelhamid's darkened form glowed in the outlines made of his body by the moonlight behind him. His dark eyes seemed to carry a glint irrespective of the darkness his face was clad in.

Dilruba straightened slightly in the tub, suddenly anxious of her bare form in the water as she thought of how she hadn't even heard him climb the stairs.

The usurper slowly stepped further into the room, and with his ringless right hand, he yanked at the dark cloth covering half his face, unravelling it as he separated it from himself and tossed it away on the bed, his eyes briefly moving away from her to look at the mound of her discarded jewelry on the bed and her new clothes from the city of Thāj laid spread on the mattress. His eyes found hers again and she took in the sight of his uncovered face, the dark stubble on his cheeks, his thick lips and his intense dark kohl-lined eyes. 

Dilruba wondered now if she had imposed. She wondered now if the sight of her jewelry and clothes on his bed—or even her presence in his room—would anger him. Her heart beat quickened as she thought if she should've insisted the man named Ghazi for a different place she could occupy for freshening herself in instead of Burhan's own room. 

She searched for anger in his eyes when he ventured close and swayed slightly on his feet as though he was merely testing out a muscle. But the glint in his dark eyes had sharpened, and his gaze had already ventured past her face to the exposed top of her breasts visible a bit over the surface of the water in the tub. Burhan met her eyes and exhaled a breath.

"Fuck," He let out then, as though words were stones lodged in his throat. 

"Tell me you were not thinking about me in that state, farashat rayiea, or I swear to you I will go fucking insane."