“I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s just that with the kingdom finally secure and people at last settled, I wonder if it’s time for me to begin to contemplate my own personal next steps.”
“Marriage?” he asked.
“A strong alliance with another kingdom would be good for Moribania. Particularly after everything the people have been through.”
“I’m certain you would have fifty suitors from the finest kingdoms lined up tomorrow if you let it be known you were interested in marriage.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But I want more than a political alliance to strengthen Moribania’s position in the world, as important as that is; I also wish to like the person I marry and connect with them on a personal level. I’m not sure someone like me can have it both ways.”
“You’ll think of something, Amina,” Ramy said. “If I know you as well as I think I do, you will find a way to have both.” He smiled, lifted his duster, and walked out of the room.
Amina watched him leave and sighed. She knew a marriage filled with love and mutual understanding was a complicated matter when one was sultana of a kingdom many would be eager to make binding alliances with through matrimony. How to separate those who were genuine in asking for her hand, and those who simply wished to amass more power?
Just then her eye caught on the artwork framed beside a window overlooking the meadow. The piece was a simple enough canvas at first glance. A princess had gifted it to her recently during a diplomatic mission from her island kingdom, and Amina had loved it at first sight. It had a white background and two circles of paint, one blue and one a deep red, both dripping down into a swirl of purple.
And then, Amina’s eyes widened. She knew what to do.
The next day a royal invitation was sent to all the lands near and far. Sultana Amina was interested in marriage, said the invitation. However, as a busy woman, she did not have time to engage in courtship with many people. Instead, suitors were invited to visit the palace to answer one simple question. If they answered correctly, the sultana and the suitor could proceed with conversation, courtship, and possibly marriage if both parties desired.
From the moment the invitations were sent, people from around the world arrived daily, eager to at last meet the famed sultana. Royals from kingdoms large and small, some new to her and others quite familiar, lined up before the palace doors. Ramy led each person in, one by one. He escorted them into the royal hall where the sultana sat on her throne, and he asked each person who came the same question.
“The sultana would like to know what you see in that canvas,” he said, drawing the suitor’s attention away from the sultana and toward the art on the wall.
Some who arrived simply stared at him, confused at the question. Others grew irate at the idea of such a ridiculous request. Still others tried to sweet-talk and sidestep the question altogether, asking the queen for a moment alone. But Amina would not speak to anyone until they had answered this question correctly.
The interpretations of what the artwork represented were wide and varied. Some thought the painting looked as though it had been printed with little fingers, and thus the artwork meant the queen wanted children—an heir for her throne. Others thought perhaps the sultana had painted the canvas herself, so they told her they saw within the canvas a most intelligent and beautiful creator. But try as they might, each person got it wrong and were sent on their way.
“Perhaps a different test?” Ramy suggested one evening after a record fifty-seven suitors came and went, all dejected.
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I compromise on so many things for the sake of my kingdom, but whom I spend my life with, I will choose on my own terms.”
“I hope soon enough you will see who it is you were meant to find,” Ramy said.
After many months passed, however, with not a single suitor close to guessing the truth behind the artwork, Karim, her advisor approached her, his expression tense.
“Forgive me, Sultana, but I must inform you that people are talking,” he said. “They wonder if you are doing this test out of some sort of perverse amusement. You have earned a great deal of goodwill among your subjects and your advisors and council members, but this game of yours is making many wonder about your state of mind.”
Amina watched him walk away. She kept her composure, but a flicker of worry rose within her. She knew her advisor did not mean to be harsh; he was entrusted to tell her the truth, keep his ear to the ground, and report back. If he had dared to tell her this so bluntly, the conversations had to be harsher than he was letting on. She wondered: was the advisor right? Was she truly asking for too much?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ramy.
“It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it?” he said, staring at the canvas.
“What is?” she asked.
“How anyone cannot know what that painting is about. It’s plain as day.”
“You know what it means?” Amina asked cautiously. Though she trusted Ramy more than anyone else in her life, she had not told anyone what she had seen in the painting.
“Of course,” he nodded. “The separate colors—the red and blue—they are rich and beautiful, and then”—he trailed a finger following how they merged and consumed one another—“they change into a wholly new color. Except that if you study it carefully enough, you know that there are specks of blue and red throughout the new shade. They are one color, and yet still their own colors. It’s a portrait of love. Or at least, love as it should be—a union, but one that honors the best of both people.”
Amina stared at Ramy.
Ramy. The man who had stood by her side all her life. The one who had helped her and counseled her. Who had never let her down. She could make so many good decisions and have so much insight about so many things—and yet, when it came to this, how could she not have seen? Why had she presumed she had to marry another royal for stability and security for her kingdom, when love was a greater stabilizer than a title or a person’s financial worth?
“It’s you,” she said softly. “It always has been, hasn’t it?”
Ramy looked at her. His eyes brimmed with tears.
“I had hoped one day you would see.”
The next day, a beautiful, elaborate wedding was held on the grounds of the palace. And from that day on Sultana Amina and her husband ruled their kingdom together. The people who had privately doubted Amina’s decision to marry Ramy understood with time that the union of two people who loved one another and helped one another reach new heights would only pass on its bounty and joy to their entire kingdom.
“YOU SURE you’re okay?” Aladdin asked Jamaal.
“It looked worse than it really was,” the boy said. “I feel okay now.”
Aladdin looked over the boy’s arms and neck, but aside from some bruising by his shoulders, he did seem to be all right.
“Thank you,” Jamaal told Aladdin and Jasmine as they walked toward the kingdom proper. They stepped onto the cobblestoned street and saw lights turning off in the homes they walked past. It had been a busy day; everyone was exhausted. Jamaal looked off to the side of the road. “It’s strange to think about it, but he’s here in this town right this minute. The jail is only a five-minute walk from right where we’re standing. He got out of the other prison, didn’t he? What if he gets out from this new one? What if he looks for me again?”
“He’s locked up pretty securely now,” Aladdin reassured him. “There’s around-the-clock surveillance, too. I know it must still feel terrifying, but they won’t let him out of their sight now. Not after all the insults he hurled and threats he made.”
“Maybe they can banish him to another land,” Jamaal said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Aladdin said, with a pang of sadness—because there would be no need to banish this man anywhere else. This place would soon return to its deserted state of being, as it had been before Genie created Ababwa. He knew as soon as he and Jasmine sat on the magic carpet and left this city out of view, Ababwa would disappear along with the villagers, the palace, Ahmed’s map shop, the cafés, and this boy, too. The prison that contained Abbas would also vanish, and he would be no worse off than before—banished in a desolate, uninhabited land, debating if he’d made up all that had transpired.
