“But…” Jasmine couldn’t make sense of it. “How did I not recognize you?” She couldn’t believe it. She’d spent an entire day with him, and though she’d suspected who he was, how could it have taken her this long to realize this was Aladdin, the same boy who had charmed her completely in the streets of Agrabah?
“People don’t see the real you when you’re royalty,” Aladdin said.
He was right about that. She saw how differently people treated her when she was out in Agrabah cloaked in her handmaiden’s clothing as compared to how they treated her when she was dressed in her full regalia. People saw only her title when they saw her as a princess.
“I’m embarrassed,” she admitted. “You saw more of this city than I have in a lifetime.”
Aladdin’s gaze settled on her, and suddenly all she could think about was him. After a night full of travel and adventure, on this magic carpet floating above Agrabah together, Jasmine looked at Ali and felt the funniest sensation—as though her insides had turned to butter. The way he looked at her, his eyes so warm and brown…she could get lost in those eyes forever.
“We should probably get back,” Aladdin said after a moment. “It’s nearly morning.”
“Is it?” Jasmine looked up at the sky and felt a stab of disappointment. The sun was indeed poking out from the horizon. She knew they had shared more time together than she could have ever hoped for, and yet as it drew to a close, she wanted more. Jasmine sighed as the magic carpet turned away from the festivities and began to fly toward the palace. Glancing at Aladdin’s rueful expression, she knew he felt the same as she did.
The carpet gently helped Jasmine back onto her balcony. Aladdin hovered midair on the magic carpet just on the other side.
“See you later, Princess,” Aladdin said. He hesitated. She saw the longing in his eyes. She felt it, too. No matter who he was, no matter whether his name was Ali or Aladdin, she knew only one thing at this moment—she had fallen in love with him.
And then, just like that, Aladdin floated up. Toward her. And before she could think or say another word, he kissed her. His lips against hers. Jasmine closed her eyes and kissed him back. This kiss was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.
It was perfect.
THE LAND was as desolate as Sultan Waleed had heard. He frowned as he arrived upon the rocky shores of the abandoned lands that had once been Moribania. His people had reported that they could not find Abbas anywhere when they had last come to replenish his provisions. Perhaps he had had taken his life on the rocky cliffside of the abandoned lands, but as Sultan Waleed checked upon the extra wooden pallet of food and provisions they had left behind, he saw that it was empty.
Then the sultan heard a sound. It sounded like a parrot, squawking the same words over and over again in the distance.
“Your Majesty,” a soldier said nervously, “we can send our men to see what is going on, but we urge you to stay back. It may not be safe.”
“Let us go together,” Waleed said somberly. Together they walked toward the noise—and then, through three columns of boulders resting against one another, they saw a light glowing and heard the sound grow louder.
As they approached, Sultan Waleed understood the sounds they heard earlier were not the squawks of a bird, but the maniacal laughter of a man—of Abbas. He sat by the glow of the fire and laughed and spoke in animated conversations to himself. The words were garbled, and Waleed could not make them out.
“Abbas,” Waleed said quietly once he had approached the man.
Abbas jumped at the voice. He turned around. His eyes met Waleed’s. They widened and then they narrowed.
“Another figment has arrived, has it?” He stumbled up to his feet and unsteadily drew near the sultan. Two soldiers moved to block his path.
“It’s all right,” Waleed told the men. “Let him approach.”
Abbas walked until he was face to face with his former friend. He was a pale version of his old self. His hair thin and wispy, his face lined with cuts and scars and bruises.
“You’re just as real as the last one,” he finally said.
“Last one?”
“Yes.” Abbas nodded vigorously. He reached out and touched the king’s robe. The soldiers took a step forward, but Waleed gave a subtle headshake, telling them to stay back.
“The clothing and”—he glanced up at Waleed’s cream-colored hat—“the hat, everything. All of it. Just like the other time. That other man. How do these sorcerers do it?”
“Has someone else come here?” Waleed asked him.
“Oh yes.” Abbas nodded vigorously. “The man—he had a whole kingdom here. It was out of this world, I’ll have you know. He built it from nothing! It started with a burst of gold and red and blue bursting into the sky. And then…you should’ve seen it! It was outrageous. Tall golden minarets and a ruby-encrusted roof. It was five stories high, it was. And he had a carpet. It was made of magic. I almost got it.” His face reddened. “I almost got it.”
“You saw this?” Waleed asked him.
“Yes!” Abbas shouted. “Are you unable to process common conversations since we last spoke? I saw it all. And then it vanished. It was a figment. Or maybe it was real.” His expression grew confused. “It felt real. But it wasn’t real. But you look real. Are you real?” He reached out and touched the sultan’s shoulder.
Waleed looked at him quietly. His friend, the one who had grown up playing sports with him. Who had read books side by side with him and gone horseback riding with him through the verdant fields of Sulamandra. His friend had gone mad. Waleed looked around. In a desolate land like this, what else could one do but go mad? Yes, Abbas had betrayed him and caused much harm to his beloved kingdom—he had burned nearly half of it to the ground.
But did any man deserve this?
Without warning, Abbas rushed toward the king and shoved him with all his force. He had grown considerably frail, so the impact was minimal—but the soldiers now gripped Abbas’s arms on either side while the man laughed hysterically.
“Still weak as ever, eh, Waleed?” Abbas cackled.
“Your Majesty.” A soldier approached King Waleed. “I will stay here and watch him until you are securely back on the ship.”
“He’s coming back with us,” Waleed said quietly.
“Sultan Waleed,” the soldier said, hesitating, “forgive me for saying this, but he tried to attack you just now.”
Waleed looked at Abbas. The years had not softened the man’s heart. It seemed they had only hardened it further. And yet it was also self-evident, with the way he raved and ranted about a nonexistent prince and a magic rug and a kingdom that had appeared and disappeared, that the man was not well.
“However he behaves, that is upon him,” Waleed finally said. “But how I choose to conduct myself, that is a reflection upon me. The man is ill. He deserves medical attention and care. He deserves mercy.”
“Where am I going?” Abbas shouted as he struggled against the men.
