“It really is! Thanks!”
“Welcome back, Prince Ali,” said a man approaching them now. He had a white mustache and graying hair and wore a navy kaftan with a matching round hat atop his head. Aladdin faltered a bit upon seeing him. His uncle—his mother’s older brother—had died when Aladdin was quite young, but the mustache and hair reminded him so much of the stories his mother had shared of him. Walking up to Aladdin now, the man opened his arms wide and embraced him. It was strangely comforting. As if they’d known each other a lifetime.
The man smiled at Jasmine and folded his hands in greeting. “Princess Jasmine. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Omar. I am Prince Ali’s butler.”
“Wonderful to meet you,” Jasmine said. “Have you been at this palace long?”
“I’ve been working here most of my life,” Omar said. “I looked out for Prince Ali when he was a child. Now that he is all grown up, I assist however I can.”
“Interesting.” She glanced at Aladdin and then back at Omar. “If you’ve known Ali his whole life, then you would be the keeper of his stories? All the embarrassing ones he’d prefer left unsaid?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
“I have a treasure trove of stories—just say the word.” Omar winked. “I am quick to spill my secrets.”
“Hey, now,” Aladdin protested while they laughed. He wondered what sort of stories a fictional person in an imaginary land would have to share about him.
“Please allow me to escort you to the dining room,” the man said now. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
Everyone?
They walked down the main hall until they reached a spacious room showcasing not one, two, or even three, but four staircases inlaid with silver winding several stories above them. Outside the oversized windows flanking the far wall, lush green grounds stretched out into the distance with trimmed shrubbery in animal shapes lining the walkways.
Just then, servants in matching navy uniforms entered the room in single file and stood with their backs against the wall at full attention.
“Princess Jasmine, it would be my honor to introduce you to our palace staff,” Omar said. One by one he told Jasmine—as well as Aladdin himself—each person’s name and role in keeping the palace up and running. The stout man with the tall white hat was the chef. The woman next to him with wavy hair and a measuring tape draped around her neck was the palace tailor. Next came the gardeners—ten of them in all—and the housecleaning staff, the palace barber, and so on. Omar introduced them all.
“We have the most wonderful meal prepared for both of you,” the chef told them.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble,” Aladdin said.
“Not at all! It was exciting to have a grand feast to prepare! As soon as we heard you’d arrived, everyone got to work at once. You will not be disappointed.” The chef clasped his hands together and hurried into the kitchen.
As it turned out, the chef was right.
The polished oak table in the dining room had a scarlet runner that stretched from one end of the table to the other. Jasmine and Aladdin sat next to one another and watched servants set out plate after plate of food while the chef told them about each dish—piping hot breads, gourmet cheeses, and jams handmade from fruit grown on the palace grounds. The pastries featured olives and greens plucked from the grounds of the palace as well.
“What else could they possibly be bringing?” Jasmine laughed when the kitchen doors swung open once more. A woman walked out balancing a wooden tray with six different steaming porcelain teapots and matching teacups. Aladdin started when he saw that they were decorated with tulips. His mother had once found tulip teacups among the discards someone had placed outside their home. She’d cleaned them up nicely, and they’d used them for years. Of course, the cups they’d had weren’t quite so fancy; he smiled wanly, remembering the chipped edges and faded designs. His heart filled with gratitude for this personal touch Genie had added.
“The tea smells divine,” Jasmine said.
“Thank you.” The woman smiled. “I have ginger, mint, oolong, peppermint, rose petal, and orange berry. But we have more, so please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“The ones you have brought all sound marvelous,” Jasmine said. She looked at Aladdin. “Which would you like?”
“Um…” Aladdin hesitated, then picked up the one in front of him. “This one?”
“Good choice,” Jasmine said. “You can never go wrong with mint.”
He poured some in his cup and took a sip.
“Not bad,” Aladdin said, unable to hide his surprise.
“I see the princess inspired Prince Ali to try some tea,” Omar noted from where he stood by the far wall.
“Inspired?” Jasmine glanced at Aladdin. “Does he not normally enjoy tea?”
“Not after what happened many a moon ago.”
“Really?” Jasmine lowered her teacup. “Now I have to know the story.”
“Um,” Aladdin interrupted, “she doesn’t need to hear that.”
“Now I really need to.” Jasmine laughed. “Please, Omar, go on.”
“Sorry, Prince Ali. But I cannot refuse the request of a princess,” Omar said, his eyes twinkling. “His dislike for tea began young, but it’s not the tea that was to blame. He was a little boy of five back then. Some royal guests arrived to visit the family and Prince Ali insisted on helping. He was getting into just about everything, so his mother ushered him over to the kitchen to help the staff with the tea—stirring sugar. Simple enough. Our young boy was eager to get to work, though there was a slight hiccup since he could not yet read labels, and…well, in fairness, salt and sugar are the same color….”
“Oh, no,” Jasmine clasped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, yes.” Omar nodded gravely. “Our young prince stirred salt into all the tea, including his own. And when the time came to serve their guests, well, everyone had a most unexpected surprise.”
“Poor Ali,” Jasmine said. “That might have put me off tea for good as well.”
“Yeah.” Aladdin managed to smile. He shifted in his seat. It wasn’t that Omar had shared an embarrassing childhood tale with Jasmine that unsettled him…it was the fact that the story Omar shared was true. Of course, the people who had been visiting his mother and him that day were friends passing through town, not royalty. And there were no servants; Aladdin was helping his mother herself prepare the tea. He could still remember the laughing and conversations as everyone had sat in his family’s humble dwelling, and then the sudden shock in their eyes when they’d tasted their drinks. He hadn’t reflected upon that memory in years.
Suddenly, a banging sound jolted Aladdin from his memory.
“What was that?” Jasmine jumped at the noise.
“Let me in! Right now!” a loud angry voice shouted in the distance.
