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Unable to sleep, Jasmin paced the halls of the palace. As they had when she was a child with her head full of tales of adventures that her mother had told to her, the open and airy corridors felt stifling, the cool night breeze blowing through the windows like a furnace blast against her skin. She wanted to run, to leap from a window as she had with Aladdin and fly away into the night. If she wanted to she could, the carpet was asleep, but like an eager pet, it wouldn’t object to her waking it for a night flight, a chance to get away, but tonight that wouldn’t be enough.
Flying, looking down on the city and the sprawling expanse of dunes beyond, she wouldn’t want to stop, to return home and have to face the countless small frustrations the next day would hold. Up there she would be free, alone with her thoughts.
Which was also a problem, she didn’t trust her thoughts, not when, day after day, they took her down dangerous paths.
Her father, kind and doting, still ruled Agrabah, yet she acted as Sultana in all but title. Until he was gone she hadn’t the faintest clue of exactly how much of the decision making had fallen on Jafar, but should it have been as much of a surprise that the man who had thought a tiger made a fine gift for a young girl struggled with the day to day tasks of rulership, failing to understand that not everyone had good intentions?
Helping her father wouldn’t have so bad if that had been her only concern. It wasn’t, of course. Aladdin, charming as he was, also needed her help. It was obvious to everyone save her father, that he wasn’t actually a prince and she was doing her best to tutor him on how to act in a manner befitting his new station. He was nothing if not eager, but at the same time, he would wonder about things, frequently calling into question things she had considered fundamental facts of life.
If not for everything else it would have endearing, maybe even refreshing, further shaking the foundations of her life, a delightful follow-up to the adventure that had begun with her running away, the chance to see the world in a whole new way.
Except she didn’t want anything new right now, not after everything had been upended by Jafar’s betrayal.
So instead of retreating to some lofty balcony to watch the flickering lights of fires and lanterns throughout the city mirroring the stars above, imagining that she wasn’t actually in a building, but suspended, rising and falling, suspended at some impossible midpoint in the sky, she went deeper and deeper into the palace, down to the vaults.
Agrabah was an old kingdom, the palace holding wealth collected for generations, gold and gems and things of that sort, but also far more unusual treasures that were hidden away in deeper vaults.
It was there that she went, past dozing guards who blinked at her passing, puzzled by her arrival there at such a late hour, but never questioning her presence. She was the princess after all, it was her right to be where she wanted, when she wanted.
Jafar had been the one who told her about this particular vault long ago. At the time he’d been curious about the contents, convinced that somewhere inside it was a magical ring that could do…something. He hadn’t been terribly clear about it, letting her fill in the blanks with childish fantasies until she’d begged father to take her to the vault and show her how to get in.
The Sultan had been excited at the prospect, eager to who her all of the wonders that she would someday inherit and tell her all of the stories that his parents had passed down to him.
It had been exciting, but also frightening, because in addition to gold and jewels, all of which she had seen before, though perhaps not in such quantity or such impressive specimens, there were swords and other, unfamiliar weapons, strange suits of armor, seemingly outlandish in both design and scale, splendidly embroidered robes, gem encrusted statues made of precious metals that depicted men, beasts both real and fantastical, and strange combinations of the two, all these things had come as gifts, tribute and plunder from faraway lands.
All of it belonged to her father, and therefor to her. She had listened to him talk, constantly asking questions, delighted by his stories and just as often disappointed by what he didn’t know.
Which was why later, without her father knowing, she returned to the vault with Jafar following close behind.
The guards had laughed, asking her what business she had, ready to turn her away until Jafar caused them to fall instantly asleep with a single word and pass of his hand.
She showed him how to get in, proud of what she knew, and guided him through the vault, telling him what she had learned.
And with she learned so much more.
He gave names to the monsters depicted in tapestries that had made her father shrug, told her the true purpose of some of the strange, cruelly twisted blades that her father had said were silly decorations made to look scary, but were impossible to actually use.
Jafar explained that some of the items were there not because of their value, but because of how dangerous they were – cursed amulets, an astrolabe that could be used to navigate to the end of the world and then onward to places that couldn’t be mapped, a mirror that showed the future, but only the worst of it, and so many other horrible things.
Jasmin had listened to it all with the morbid delight of a child being told scary stories.
What was conspicuously absent amidst it all was the ring that Jafar had sought.
She never told her father about that night, what she had learned. At the time it had been a fun secret, the small act of disobedience thrilling. It had been the first of many.
Jasmin had a veritable treasure-trove of secrets that she kept from her father, and from Aladdin as well.
It was her right, to have things that she kept to herself, thoughts and desires that were hers alone. Aladdin had enjoyed a whole lifetime of utter freedom, acting on every whim and fancy that struck him with no need to consider what others might think, it was only fair that she have something similar, even if it was all in her mind.
It was why, after they tricked Jafar and defeated him, instead of having the last remaining traces of him destroyed or thrown away, she kept them, locking them in the palace vaults for safety. That was what she had told her father, the man too trusting to see any danger in keeping something so powerful so near.
She hadn’t told Aladdin anything at all.
Why she’d done that she wasn’t sure, possibly because there’d been so much else to worry about.
Now, on a rack of weapons, between a sword that her father had said could cut anything and a verdigrised mace that had given her nightmares for months after Jafar explained what it could do, sat Jafar’s serpent headed staff. It was, despite its appearance, completely out of place for it had been the sorcerer wielding it that had made it dangerous, a channel for his power, that without his will behind it, was harmless.
After his defeat she had come to the vault many times, running her hands along the polished handle, feeling where it was worn in the places where Jafar had gripped it. As her bravery had grown she had lifted it, putting her hands where his had once rested, the childish thrill of disobedience and stories about monsters and evil magic returning.
Holding the staff she remembered him. He had hidden his ambition well when she was younger, as good an advisor as any ruler could hope for, perfectly balancing her father’s eagerness to please and utter lack of guile. Back then Jafar had come across as patient, understanding.
She could remember watching him play chess with her father, going so far as to let him win, not all the time, but just enough that the Sultan believed his victories to be genuine and be overjoyed with his cleverness each time.
Jafar had, in time, taught her to play chess and after their first few matches, had been nowhere near as kind with her. At the time that had been a point of pride for her, quietly knowing that when she played against him she faced the full force of his intellect.
That was the reason in the end she’d been able to trick him, she told herself, she knew his mind, could match him step for step in a battle of wits. In the end she’d proven smarter than him, which meant that keeping the lamp was harmless for her as long as she was careful.
That was what she’d told herself countless times since defeating him, that she was smarter than him and that as a genie he was harmless to her.
Because imprisoned as he was within the lamp and then doubly so within the vaults, there were times when thoughts of him roamed freely through her mind.
So she came to the vaults, to be closer to him and allow the presence and reality of his captivity to drive the specter of him from her imagination.
Tonight, as she had done on so many previous nights, she ran her fingers along the serpent headed staff, the metal cold and inert under her touch. It was only in Jafar’s hands that the serpent could come to life, its gem eyes glinting wickedly.
The feel of it, the weight of it in her hands grounded her, gave her something to focus on when she was restless, but that wasn’t enough tonight.
It wasn’t enough tonight.
Leaving the staff she went deeper into the vaults, to where far more grandiose and opulent baubles were kept. There, easy to miss amid all the items of obvious value, sat a simple black lamp, glinting dully as though tarnished by years of soot and neglect.
The lamp suited its prisoner well, unassuming, yet possessing some subtle air of malice.
Or was that only because she knew what was inside?
How many times had she looked at Jafar himself without truly noticing him? He was a constant presence, dark and somber, fading into the background like a shadow on the wall, his small smiles, subtle nods and furtive glances that grew more and more frequent as she grew older only became ominous in hindsight.
Had they always been there, or had it all began when her father had started talking about her being old enough to start thinking about getting married? Had he turned to Jafar with advice on how to find the most suitable suitor and had that been what had set his machinations in motion? Which led to another, more troubling question, had her repeated refusals of the men her father selected for her added to Jafar’s desire for her, sparking the conviction that he was the best choice?
She didn’t know, never would…
Unless she summoned him to ask.
Calling on him to grant any wish was too dangerous, she was already certain of what he would do, twisting whatever she asked for into something so terrible that she was forced to use her second wish to undo it, leaving the third too dangerous for anything other than setting him free.
But if she didn’t wish for anything she would be safe.
She reached out for the lamp, her fingers hesitating inches from it.
Her heart pounded in her chest, it was fear, but also excitement, like riding on the flying carpet with Aladdin and watching the world blur past beneath them.
The sense of exhilaration made her breath hitch in her throat.
Touching the lamp, she realized, would be the closest she had come to touching Jafar since she had thrown herself at him in a fit of desperation, an attempt to deceive him and find some way to wrest control back.
Had she ever touched him before then?
She couldn’t be sure. His paradoxical existence as a constant and a non-entity made it as difficult as remembering when and why she had last touched a piece of furniture or a particular statue in the palace gardens. After all, for all his looking at her, real or figment of her imagination, he had known his place well enough to know the danger that she presented.
That was a delightful thought, one that had never occurred to her before, the exact kind of twisted, shocking nighttime idea that thrilled and mortified in turn.
She had posed a threat to Jafar, if he had acted on his desire for her and she had rebuked his affections that would have been his downfall, dear friend of her father or not. After all, she was the princess who had been given a tiger as a gift, having an advisor removed would be nothing compared to that, especially an advisor who had earned her ire.
Yes, she decided that she liked that notion, a private nighttime thought that she would keep to herself, surely as any of the treasures in the vault.
She had such thoughts often, but rarely acted on them, the only noteworthy times being when she persuaded her father to give her Rajah, and, much later, when she ran away from the palace to escape from the feelings of impending doom that had come with her father trying to find her a husband.
They were harmless fun, a way to occupy herself and deal with the stress that came with being a princess and with all the stress she faced now it was little wonder that they’d become more frequent and more insistent..
Wrapping her fingers around the stem and handle of the lamp, she picked it up, careful not to make any motion that could constitute and rubbing it.
She would pick it up, then put it back down and be satisfied.
Except, the weight of the lamp caught her off guard. It was heavier than she’d expected, though now that she thought about it that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not when the lamp looked like it was made of black iron.
Once she recovered from that surprise, another, far more fascinating one presented itself.
The lamp was warm as though it had been out in the sun all day and still retained some of the heat that had beaten down on it, rather than having been locked away in a vault, far from the sun and sky.
It was warm in a way that made her feel cold, and when shivering, she reflexively clutched it to her chest, she could feel the heat ebb and flow, just out of rhythm with her heartbeat, as though the lamp had a life of its own.
Carefully, she let go of the stem, holding it only by the handle, wrist tensing against the weight, she brought her free hand to the mouth of the lamp, expecting to feel air moving as if it were breathing. After all, wasn’t Jafar technically alive within those confines? Aware and waiting to be released?
There was nothing, no movement, no soft exhalation against her skin.
Was she disappointed?
Had she been hoping for some sign of the man who had betrayed her and her father so horribly being present there in the lamp?
Did she want to imagine him, trapped, suffering in solitude?
She closed her eyes, trying to think, but that didn’t help.
When she did it was too easy to imagine him standing there, behind her, ready to put a hand, always so warm and dry, against her shoulder to remind her of how alone she was.
He had long ago planted seeds of uncertainty in her mind about her father’s ability to rule and the more she dealt with him the more she understood.
Aladdin was supposed to be there to help her, but just as often she had to guide him through what in her mind came naturally.
She still remembered the incident at their wedding banquet, how Aladdin had greeted a visiting dignitary, and how what he had meant as a compliment on the cut of the man’s robes, had been so poorly worded as to seem an insult. She’d managed to smooth things over, and afterwards had been able to look back on it and laugh, but now the most she could manage was a small smile, one that grew thinner with every reminder of all the things that Aladdin didn’t know.
Surrounded by servants, Aladdin at her side, never had she felt more alone in her life.
It was too easy to wonder how things would be different if Jafar were still there, if he had never sought to overthrow her father and claim Agrabah for himself.
Time, not distance must have made her memories kinder, after all, he was with her right now, trapped in the lamp she held, for she found herself missing him. There had been a time, when she was a small child, where his appearance and bearing had frightened her, in time that had changed to a kind of awed respect – he was after all the person her father turned to for advice which must have made him truly wise. In time he had become part of the background, a second dark and somber shadow behind her father, making sure all was as it should be.
The lamp shifted in her hands, some combination of her arms growing tired with the awkward way she was holding it and her grip being too lose. Her fingers slid along the stem of it so that it nearly fell free from her hand and then, at the thought of dropping it and that the noise that would follow might be enough to lead to someone discovering what she was doing, her hand moved back down the stem, towards the base.
There was no intent to the motion, suggestive as it may have been, a mere reflex, and so she never considered that such a small action could be dangerous.
She let out a sigh of relief, confident that crisis had been averted right up until the moment a thin wisp of red smoke curled from the lamp, so fine that at first she dismissed it as her having been half asleep and sudden fear having brought her to her senses in the midst of some half-dream.
Except that faint shimmer persisted even after she put the lamp down, not behaving at all in the way smoke was supposed to. It rose, to a certain point, then it curved languidly downwards, coiling on itself like a serpent.
She should flee, every instinct cried out for her to run from the vault, but when she looked around her gaze fell on all of the treasures around her, on every cursed and powerful thing.
What would happen if she left Jafar free to do as he wanted amidst it all? He didn’t even need any of it though, as a genie he could escape the vault with a snap of his fingers and seek her out.
Or cause untold destruction without needing to leave. They were below the palace proper after all, in a series of rooms hollowed out beneath its foundations. If he wanted to Jafar could bring the whole place crumbling down on top of everyone inside. It was possible, even if he were bound by the lamp, she had seen the displays of whimsy that Aladdin’s genie had managed without Aladdin ever needing to utter a word.
There was no need for a wish to be made for a genie to exercise its powers…
So she stood, staring at the smoke, waiting as it gathered itself into something more solid, something more real.
She was cleverer, she told herself, as long as she was careful and said nothing that could be construed as a wish she would be safe.
She had outsmarted Jafar once, she could do it again.
Bracing herself for the fearsome creature of rage and power that was about to appear, she tried to plan what she would say to get him back into the lamp only to have every though flee her mind when he appeared, not as some larger than life monster, but at the man he had always been.
Yes, the smoke remained swirling at his feet, trailing back to the lamp and, when he raised his arm there was a moment where the sleeve of his robe slipped down enough to reveal gold glinting at his wrist, manacles far too large and heavy for his slender frame.
His staff was in his hand, as it always was. She’d never even seen him motion for it, but when she glanced over to where it had been it wasn’t there.
He was tall, looming over her, but no more so than he had been previously, and though his dark eyes flashed with golden light when he looked at her, it was only for a moment and could have been nothing more than a reflection of the room around him.
Prepared for a monster, she had no clue what to do when confronted by a man.
“Jafar,” she said flatly, more to prove to herself that she hadn’t been stunned into silence than because she had any idea of what to say to him.
He nodded, thin lips curling into a smile, “Princess.”
If he was surprised to see her he gave no hint of it.
Instead he nodded, as though this was nothing more than a chance encounter, both of them suffering from insomnia and meeting during their respective late night wanderings.
She had expected rage, demands, threats, anything but the utter calm he radiated as he passed his staff back and forth from hand to hand.
Carefully, she watched the motion, ready to leap back at a moment’s notice, expecting the golden serpent to open its mouth and dart forward to strike.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Jafar’s smile grew wider, showing teeth rather than cheer, but that was how he had always been, as though there was some impassible barrier that prevented any expression from reaching his eyes.
Jasmin kept her eyes on the staff, until two thoughts occurred to her at the same time, snakes could hypnotize their prey and the staff was a channel for Jafar’s power. Immediately she locked eyes with him.
Like someone snuffing a candle the smile was gone, his expression grave. Now she could see emotion in his eyes, bottomless, seething rage, yet it was absent from the rest of his face and from his voice when he continued to speak.
“I was certain it would take you longer to decide to visit me in person,” his eyes briefly looked down to the lamp, still in her hands, “But I knew that you’d come, that there would be something you wanted.”
There was the trick, an attempt to get her to say something he could twist to suit his own devices.
“I didn’t come here for you,” she scowled, drawing herself up as tall and straight as she could.
“And yet,” the smile flickered back into existence, just for a moment as he gestured to the lamp in her hands, making her words appear a lie.
“I came here to think,” she protested, wondering why in the world she was bothering to argue with him, yet knowing that she couldn’t just leave, “I do that sometimes.”
“I know,” Jafar nodded, and, as though reading her mind, answered her unspoken question, “Even in there I could hear you walking around during those far-too-long, restless nights. Or is it day? I haven’t been keeping track of time, and to imagine you sneaking off during the day, hiding from your duties to spend time alone and… think whatever thoughts you’re having right now is amusing to me.”
There was something about his tone, infuriatingly knowing, that made her want to ask what he meant, but she held her tongue. She needed a plan, something to say to put him safely back in the lamp and until she had that she needed to be careful.
So she had no choice but to listen to him as he continued.
“How miserable have you been with what was supposed to be your well-earned happily ever after?” The way he laughed, as though he had somehow seen all of her growing frustration with the feeling that nothing had worked out quite the way it should.
It might have been mere extrapolation from hearing her visits to the vault, the noise of her pacing and perhaps he had felt the world shift on the occasions previously when she had picked up his lamp. Even if, like he said, he hadn’t been keeping track of time, he must have noticed that those visits had grown more and more frequent.
He knew more than she felt he should have about her situation, and that was intolerable. Her visits to the vault were supposed to be a secret, something that only she knew about, not a source of amusement for an unseen and hated voyeur to gloat over.
Meeting his gaze she gathered her racing thoughts, ready to reprimand him for his arrogance, she was a princess after all, and what right did he have to speak to her in such a way?
“How dare you presume that –”
He raised a hand, cutting her off.
No matter how she tried, further words refused to come as the world seemed to fall away around her until all that remained was her and Jafar.
“It’s not mere presumption on my part princess,” the word dripped with contempt when he said it, making her resent the title, “I knew that you would come and that, eventually, you would pick up the lamp and….”
He laughed, letting the thought hang, his smile telling her everything.
A genie was bound by their lamp and the wishes of the one who held it, but Jafar was so much more than that, had set his sights on her and her kingdom far earlier.
His first wish had been to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world and when he had wished for the impossible, for the genie to make her love him her first thought had been to throw herself into his arms.
Where had that idea come from?
It had been her own, hadn’t it?
And even if it hadn’t, afterwards Jafar had been imprisoned, locked away safely out of sight and out of mind so it didn’t matter if it came from some subliminal whisper left in the depths of her mind.
Never would she have imagined that his sorcerous power could extend beyond his prison, resonating with something planted in her mind years ago, crying out to her like silent siren song, and even if such a thought had occurred to her she likely would have dismissed it as fearful nonsense conjured up by her restless mind, though perhaps such a dismissal might not have been of her own volition.
“I hadn’t planned on my imprisonment, at least not like this,” he waved dismissively at the lamp, as though it was of little consequence, “But watching you grow up I had known that no matter the outcome, you wouldn’t be satisfied with your lot in life, much like myself.”
That he could find any similarity between the two of them made her stomach churn. Or perhaps that was simply vertigo, for though she could feel the tiles of the floor beneath her feet, she couldn’t look down and see them, all that existed around her was darkness, the feeling of a precarious drop.
And Jafar’s eyes, deep and dark, yet another thing for her to be in danger of falling into.
“You were willful, independent, unlike your father I couldn’t use my abilities as though they were a bludgeon, forcing you to obey through brute force alone. I could, on the other hand, use that stubborn streak of yours to my advantage, feeding into the dissatisfaction you felt,” there was a force to his words, as though his hand was on her shoulder.
Except she could see his hands, just barely, holding onto his staff, passing it lazily back and forth not quite in time with his words, but close enough to make her head spin.
She blinked, forcing herself to keep her eyes closed and to focus on the floor beneath her feet.
“If you wish for me to be free I would be so grateful,” both his hands were on her shoulders now, but his voice was far away, “What favors would you ask of me as the greatest sorcerer to ever live, as a genie able to use his powers to accomplish the unimaginable?”
Unimaginable power? Was that why she couldn’t think of a single thing that he could or couldn’t do?”
“What would you wish for? Only the final one has to be for my freedom, and then you’ll be at my side, able to experience my generosity to its fullest.”
His hands moved in, not to strangle her, though it was getting difficult for her to breathe, like when she was with Aladdin and he had taken her up on the magic carpet so high that the air was cold and thin. All Jafar did was run his thumbs along the arc of her collarbone.
Yes, in the past he had been generous, hadn’t he, helping her to convince her father to shower her with gifts, whether or not it had been wise to do so? And that had been before he’d possessed such impossible power.
What wonders could he offer now?
“The Sultan frustrates you, your beloved has proven to be a bore,” Jafar’s voice remained distant, but she could feel his breath on her neck, so close, so intimate, “How would you fix that?”
That was why she had come to the vaults, wasn’t it? To seek the answer to those questions.
“If you were to become Sultana that would answer the first question, wouldn’t it?” How was Jafar able to talk like that, whispering into her ear, when at the same time she could feel his lips at her neck? “And perhaps the second as well…”
He continued to push, leaving her with the sensation of teetering of the edge of a sheer drop, the slightest breeze and she’d be sent tumbling.
No! She loved Aladdin, truly, even if he did frustrate her at times. He was sincere and kind and the thought of ordering him to be executed for some imagined slight was too far, an idea left from before, when Jafar had seen her dissatisfaction with the suitors her father had selected for her and had thought that she might eventually be forced to settle with one of them.
Jasmin shook her head at the thought, such an idea so clearly not her own that it threatened to break the spell she was only half aware that she was under.
A genie couldn’t force her to feel desire for someone she truly hated, the knowledge came to her like a reassurance, and so she never considered that what was beyond the abilities of a genie might be well within the province of a sufficiently powerful human magician.
Yes, Jafar couldn’t force her to love him, even if she couldn’t bring herself to pull away as he kissed her neck and goosebumps rose on her skin, a thrill that wasn’t entirely her own running through her. No, the thrill came from the realization that in the past there had been Sultans who had taken multiple brides and if she were Sultana who would dare protest to her having a second lover?
One of far more royal bearing than Aladdin, one who would permit no questioning of her authority nor of her husband’s fitness to rule.
Jafar, as a grateful genie, free to do as he pleased, could protect her, could protect Aladdin. In the past he had been so infinitely patient with her father and he would surely be the same with Aladdin, tutoring him on what he needed to know so that no one would dream to question his claims of being a prince from a foreign land, one so distant that even the most learned scholars had never heard of.
She tilted her head back so that Jafar’s lips missed hers when he went in for another kiss.
Pushing him away wasn’t an option, not when he was the only thing keeping her from falling down into whatever lay below.
What would it be like to have a genie as a lover?
Had she thought that, or had Jafar whispered it to her? She thought that she might have heard his voice, right in her ear and yet so far away that she could hardly hear it, echoing through her mind.
Maybe she had simply spoken it out loud, because Jafar’s hands went smoothly from her neck to her chest, every nerve lighting on fire under his touch.
Except there was no pain, only pleasure the likes of which she had never imagined possible. Her first night together with Aladdin had been a wonderful experience discovering the most intimate places of herself as though for the first time and Jafar’s touch swept all of that away.
Down he went, his hands at her stomach, her waist, to her hips and stopping there, promising so much more, but not yet ready to give any of it.
That was good, because some distant corner of her mind didn’t want him to, despite every nerve in her body crying out to the contrary.
“What would your first wish be?” Jafar asked, the question making her blood run cold in a way that made her want to shove him away and throw herself into his arms at the same time.
As long as she didn’t make a wish she was safe, the thought flashed through her mind like lightning, a brilliant flash that faded to afterimages and memory.
She was safe from his power because she was smarter than him, too smart to be tricked into making a wish that would serve him rather than her, though at the moment the only wish she could think of was for him to move his hands, for his touch to ignite pleasure somewhere new, deeper inside of her.
Her hands went to his, trying to force him to move them, sure that he would, for he wanted it far more than she did, yet he refused to budge, something in her mind telling her that only a wish would be enough to accomplish.
No! She didn’t want to wish for him to make love to her, to invite him to bring his lithe and graceful form between her legs. She tried to think of him as the danger that he was, the serpent that he so resembled, but she could only think of him longingly, his every aspect endearing, desirable.
If she couldn’t get him to move his hands, she could do the next best thing.
She grabbed his face, briefly wondering how he could be close enough to touch when she was certain that she had neither moved to him, nor he towards her, and pulled him into a kiss.
It was a distraction she told herself, to keep him from forcing any further thoughts into her head, or perhaps to occupy her mouth and keep her from making some foolish, dangerous wish.
He returned the kiss without hesitation and oh, it felt so good. Everything she had done with Aladdin was unrefined, clumsy in comparison.
But that was what she found so endearing about Aladdin, he was a breath of fresh air, something wonderful, freeing.
This was heavy and dark and oppressive, comforting, like a blanket on a cold night, the wind howling all around her, but unable to reach her with its chilling touch.
She needed air, but Jafar refused to break the kiss, holding her in place, unmoving, utterly unyielding.
Would she wish for air? His mouth seemed to ask against hers, if she cried out into him, would her silent words be heeded?
Two wishes then, for him to let her breath and to make love to her.
And then both of them would be free with her third wish.
Yes, it was so simple, exactly what they both wanted, what she wanted.
But was it?
Would Jafar truly be grateful, or would her releasing him merely mark the start of his revenge against her father, against Aladdin, against her and everything else he hated?
As a man there would have been some hope of a limit to the scope of his revenge, but what would it be with the power of a genie behind it?
A free genie, one bound by no rules save for his desires?
What would he do with that power?
What would she do with it? The thought forced its way into her mind, clearly not her own, but close enough to make her once again wonder.
After all, Jafar wanted her. He wouldn’t kill her, wouldn’t do anything to make her hate him more than she already did. Her father would be safe, Aladdin would be safe, he would let her bargain for that much.
He was a genie after all, she was the one in control, the one with all the power, not him.
Despite what her mind tried to tell her, their positions were the opposite of what they seemed.
Proof was that the unbearable kiss was suddenly gone, air rushing into her lungs as she dropped to her hands and knees, no longer trapped in her own mind at some impossible altitude.
Because genie could not kill, not of his own volition nor at the behest of the one who held his lamp.
Still, the sensation of his touch lingered and when she was steady enough to lift one of her hands her first thought was to crawl towards him, to beg, not wish, that he allow her to experience further pleasure.
Instead her hand went between her legs, able to do nothing to alleviate the sensation, but at least giving her something else to focus on.
Jafar stood where in the same place where he had first emerged from the lamp, never having moved an inch during her whole ordeal.
She stared at his shoes, the smoke swirling around his feet.
It would seem that she was groveling before him, but that wasn’t true, not at all. It was because she knew that if she looked up, at his face or the staff she could hear that he was still passing from hand to hand, she would be back fully in his power.
And if that happened there would be no hope of resisting.
Seeing her like this pleased him, she was sure of that, and it was something she could use to her advantage, just like how when she had first embraced him he had wanted it so badly that he had allowed himself to be deceived. He wouldn’t stop her, and that would buy her time to think, to come up with a way out of the horrible trap he had so cunningly set.
“I can tell you’re thinking.”
She didn’t need to look up to know that he was smiling, a rare smile that made it all the way to his eyes and as much as she wanted to see it, she knew that if she did it would be her doom.
“What are you thinking of?”
His voice was gentle, comforting and oh how she wanted to look at him, to see his satisfaction at her kneeling before him.
Having time to think was an illusion, what she needed was to act.
“I wish,” Jasmin gasped, carefully thinking over what she had to say. Something deep inside her screamed for her to wish him free, that she could trust him not to flee as Aladdin’s genie had, but was that really what she wanted?
Even as a human Jafar would still be the most powerful sorcerer in the world and it was that power he had used to beguile her, not the cosmic forces he commanded as a genie. He was smart, she had to give that to him, but once again he had proven too smart for his own good.
After all, the same urge that commanded her to free him also commanded that she yearn for him, and freeing him alone wouldn’t satisfy that. He wanted her to love him, an all-consuming, covetous desire straight from his mind to hers, like nothing she had ever experienced. Freeing him would do nothing to satisfy that. He would use her and keep her, but never love her, not in the ways that she so desperately wanted.
And above all, there was that, what she wanted. Despite his power, there was a corner of her mind that fought, that begged for her to take into account what she wanted, the desires that had made her seek out his lamp in the first place.
There was a wish that she had wanted to make for herself, but what was it?
Everything was such a muddle in her head, except for the need to make a wish.
The need for her to have Jafar in the exact same way that he wanted to have her.
“I wish for you to be free, not as a genie, but as my loyal and unwaveringly obedient human servant.”
He started to nod, only to freeze, his eyes wide as what she’d said sank in.
“Father will forgive you. If I ask nicely and you help he might even allow you to serve as his Vizier again,” she smiled gently, “And I think that Aladdin will do well under your tutelage. Surely you will be able help him behave like a proper prince should.”
“What do you mean?” Glowing yellow eyes narrowed, suddenly his clawed hands clenching into fists as though in an attempt to hold onto what he was now rather than what she wished for him to be, “What treachery is this?”
“Nothing that you shouldn’t have expected,” Jasmin frowned, “I’m tired of having to manage my father, of having to instruct my husband on what’s expected of him, and if nothing else you’re someone to confide in, so stop stalling and grant my wish.”
He was fighting her, she could see that, and from Aladdin’s stories she knew that as a genie Jafar had some control on how and when he would grant the wish, but since it was a wish that was within his power he would need to grant it unless she reconsidered.
Jafar glared at her, waiting for her to change her mind, to amend the wish in some way more pleasing to him. She could feel the pressure of his gaze deep inside her mind, his will trying to overwhelm her, but already it was being weakened by her wish.
After all, he was the one who was supposed to be obedient to her, not the other way around.
It was funny, she realized in that moment, he had tried so hard to manipulate her, to wear down her defenses, never imagining how through a job he had done, that he would succeed beyond his wildest imaginings.
He was getting exactly what he wanted, a position of power and to be the puppet master ruling the kingdom, at least until she was ready to step up, and then he would rule at her side, so there was little room for his sorceries to make her change her mind.
“Grant my wish,” she repeated, yearning for him and anger at him warring in her mind, her thoughts too tumultuous to follow. There would be peace soon enough though, once her wish was granted it would all settle out. It would settle into something new and horrifying, but in the end it would all be settled, and at this point what more was there for her to hope for?
The two of them would have exactly what they wanted, though perhaps not at all how they wanted it.
“Surely there’s something else,” Jafar hissed through clenched teeth, trying to resist and having as much luck as she had, “That’s only a single wish, you could have two more if you – ”
She felt herself about to give in, to surrender to the power in his eyes, and so she did.
Rising to her feet, she threw herself at him, she silenced him with a kiss, at the same time stifling the words that he’d been trying to make her say. This time he would be the one pleading, begging for air as his power waned and her control became absolute.
He was startled, too caught off guard, or maybe too intrigued by her actions to react.
And in that moment, what he wanted and her wish were too similar.
He returned the kiss with unrestrained ferocity completely unlike him.
He brought his hands up, gripping her shoulders hard enough that it hurt, but his was merely the strength on a man. His sleeves fell back, revealing the shimmering manacles that had been around his wrists as a genie, glowing like molten gold before fading into sparks.
Slowly, the power of a genie faded, leaving him as merely the most powerful sorcerer in the world.
Like that she was the one fully in control. The feeling of his touch faded to something thrilling but otherwise bearable. Still, the desire he had planted in her remained.
She was the one in control though, free to shove him away with the same contempt as he had shown her in his attempts at manipulation.
His hands clenched at his sides as he glared at her, the power he had once possessed remaining only to compel him to wait for her to tell him what to do and hating every moment of it.
“Enough,” Jasmine sighed and lay back, exhausted, amid the glistening contents of the vault, the most resplendent of treasures to be found there. He had left her yearning for something that only he could give and she supposed that she had no choice other than let him have that much. Her lips twisted into a small smile, uncomfortable and unlike any that she had worn previously as it failed to make it to her eyes, but in time she was sure that she would grow used to her new smile, as surely as her new lover would grow used to his position at her side, or wherever else she ordered him to be, “Now, serve your Sultana and finish what you started.”
She spread her legs, inviting him.
It was amusing, that while a wish couldn’t compel love, it could force obedience.
She could tell that it wasn’t wholly forced though, because when he finally fell between her legs he acted with an enthusiasm that could not have been wholly feigned.