Jasmine was late. She had managed to sneak back into the palace as fast as she could and hadn't even had a chance to fill Dalia in on her adventure—and missing bracelet—before another servant had come to tell her that her presence was requested in the Great Hall.

Racing from her chambers, Jasmine couldn't help comparing the luxurious walls of the palace with the streets she had been wandering less than an hour before. They were in such close proximity, yet so different. Just like Aladdin and I, she thought, surprised by the way her heart hitched at the thought of his name. Stopping in front of the huge doors that led into the Great Hall, Jasmine could hear the voice of her father.

"Welcome, Prince Anders!" the Sultan said. "We trust you had an enjoyable journey?"

" Ja, " another voice answered in a thick accent. "Our ships are such good design, we barely feel the waves. It's like you are on clouds or something—"

Jasmine took a deep breath. She loved her father and knew he was probably hating every minute of the small talk. He had always left that to her mother, and without her there, he was lost. Smoothing her hands against the rich, soft fabric of her gown—a deep pink the color of a vibrant sunrise, complete with a long train that slowed her pace more than she liked—she pushed open the door and walked out onto the landing beyond. She stood for a moment, looking down the length of the golden stairs to the men gathered at the bottom. As the door shut behind her, the noise echoing through the Great Hall, everyone looked up. She saw her father's warm smile and kind eyes, a comfort as she found herself once again on display. Holding her head up, she began to walk down the long stairs, feeling Prince Anders's appreciative gaze on her. Despite the layers of elegant clothing, she shivered, moving more slowly than she would have liked due to the long train trailing behind her. At her side, Raja purred deeply, his presence comforting—and protective.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her dress flowing out behind her, she caught Prince Anders's approving nod. Clearly, the dress Dalia had chosen had done the trick—at least insomuch as it was supposed to wow the prince speechless. But Jasmine couldn't help wondering what he must be thinking. From all she had read, his homeland was simple and sparse—colored by earthy tones, dominated by woods and snow. The hard-working people made do with small pleasures and rough homes, content to live off the land and enjoy the natural beauty. But as she lifted her eyes and took another look at Prince Anders's formal attire, clearly made of rich fabric, she remembered she had also read that the royal family did not live quite so simply. In fact, it was said that while they were content to let their people live meager lives, the royal family enjoyed life in excess. Opulent palaces, huge feasts to mark any day of even minor import, and a queen who enjoyed jewels—any and all shapes, sizes, and colors. Jasmine couldn't help wondering if the people of Agrabah would say the same of their royal family. Did they think she and her father were that out of touch?

The thought made Jasmine sigh, wishing for the millionth time that she could have a more active role in leading Agrabah—even more so as she made her way deeper into the Great Hall. The room literally sparkled. Every surface, from the pillars to the walls, was covered in intricate gold. Exotic birds, the same that wandered the gardens outside, were carved into the stairs and on the walls. Fish swam up the pillars in abundance, as they did in the sea beyond. When Jasmine had been a girl, she had spent hours staring at the birds—their wings spread—wondering what it would be like to just be able to fly away. To see the world from above, not be stuck in one place. She sighed. All that wondering had gotten her nowhere. Like the fish etched in gold, she was stuck in her place. And probably would be always.

Jasmine noticed that her father's head guard, Hakim, was there as always, protecting the Sultan. She tried not to groan when she spotted Jafar, the palace vizier, along with his annoying parrot, Iago. She felt the vizier's eyes on her and shivered in disgust. She had never liked the man and disliked him even more now that he had ingratiated himself into her father's life. Since her mother's death, the man had been omnipresent, and his words and opinions had been the only things that her father seemed to hear.

Finally arriving at the end of the hall, Jasmine leaned down and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. Then she straightened up and turned toward the visiting prince.

"Prince Anders," the Sultan said, "my daughter, Princess Jasmine."

Bowing her head, Jasmine reluctantly held out her hand so the prince could, as was custom, raise it to his lips. But instead, he leaned his head toward hers. "I think it's time for some kisses," he said. Disgusted, Jasmine took a step back as, at the same time, Dalia and Raja stepped forward protectively. The prince retreated and let out a rather high-pitched laugh as he realized he had, perhaps, been a bit too bold in his attempt. "Maybe tomorrow. Why did no one tell me of your beauty?"

"Funny, no one mentioned yours, either," she replied, the dry retort springing from her mouth despite herself. Jasmine couldn't help contrasting the man's ghostly skin, lifeless straw-colored hair, and sense of entitlement against the young man she'd met at the market, with his mop of thick black hair and easygoing charm ... Remembering her mother's bracelet, she shook her head, refocusing.

"Funny, they say that in Skånland. It's very amusing," Prince Anders said, trying—and failing—to connect with Jasmine in some way.

Jasmine cocked her head. "Is it?" she retorted, still bristling from his first words to her, the focus on her appearance. "We have the same title, yet are never described the same way." Her words bounced off the walls of the Great Hall as silence descended over the small group. She saw her father shift on his feet, and though she didn't look at him, she could sense Jafar's evil eyes drilling into her with disappointment. She knew what was expected of her. She knew she was supposed to stand there, look pretty, and pretend to be enamored with the attention. But she was so tired of being nothing more than a pawn, a piece to be trotted out when needed and then put back away, silenced in her chambers. She had balanced etiquette lessons with private history lessons. She knew how to pour a proper tea but could also name all the rulers of Agrabah in order of their succession. She had read the works of the greatest philosophers, memorized poetry from around the world, and studied battle warfare—all while keeping up with the day-to-day obligations that went along with being a princess. And yet, no one stopped to ask her what she thought about alliances or new shipping laws. Those questions went to the Sultan and Jafar, while she was left to tackle the deep and weighty questions of what linens they would use or what flowers should be displayed in the front hall. She let out an annoyed sigh.

"Um ..." Prince Anders stammered, unsure how to proceed. His eyes landed on Raja, standing still beside Jasmine. "What is that? No, don't tell me ... it's a cat with stripes," he said. Then, puffing out his chest and resuming the role of prince, he smiled smugly. "Cats love me. Hello, kitty—" He leaned forward to pet Raja. The tiger let out a low, deep, and unfriendly snarl.

The prince jumped back with a shrill shriek, spilling a sizable basket of muskmelons. The large beige fruits fell to the floor, some of them splitting open to reveal their orange centers and spattering seeds everywhere. Embarrassed, Prince Anders regained his balance and quickly snapped at one of his attendants. The servant bent down and began to pick up the melons. Jasmine watched, partly amused, partly annoyed.

"I've been told you brought us a special gift from your homeland," the Sultan said, desperate to bring the meeting back under some semblance of control.

The question seemed to do the trick. With a flip of his long cape, Prince Anders led the group over to the balcony. Jasmine's eyes narrowed as she saw the "gift" the prince had brought her father. Another group of attendants were gathered around a huge cannon, its black sides gleaming in the sun.

"In Skånland," Prince Anders said proudly, gesturing at the weapon, "everything we make is, you know, very sleek and, um ..."

Jasmine wanted to laugh out loud. Was Anders serious? Had he even bothered to look around or see what type of place Agrabah was before he came sailing over the sea on his fancy ship? Agrabah was not a place of weapons or violence. Or at least, it hadn't been. "We are a humble people," she said, earning more looks from her father and Jafar, "not impressed with the gift so much as the sentiment behind it."

The princess's words deflated some of Anders's puffed-up ego. "Well, it's ... it's ..." he stammered, "a symbol of our ... our ..." His voice faded as he struggled for the word.

"Desire for war?" Jasmine finished for him.

"Not ... no ..." Prince Anders protested.

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. The man's face was turning a startling shade of red, from embarrassment or anger, it was hard to tell which. She opened her mouth to continue her criticism of the gift when Jafar stepped forward, pushing back the long black cape he wore at all times. Laced with maroon and interspersed with gold accents, the cloak had always seemed, to Jasmine, to be too dark a choice for vibrant Agrabah. But seeing as the man who wore it was one of her least favorite people, she never bothered to offer him fashion advice. The only pop of bright color on Jafar was the turquoise accents on the staff that he never went anywhere without. As she watched now, his long, thin fingers curled around the gold staff adorned with a serpent's head. The vizier's cold eyes fittingly reminded Jasmine of a cobra's right before it attacked a mouse.

"Our princess fails to understand that no man desires war," Jafar said in a smooth and condescending tone. "But a ruler must prepare for it nonetheless."

Jasmine's hands clenched, and beside her, she felt Raja's hackles raise as he sensed his mistress's barely veiled anger. Jafar had no right to talk to her that way. She sighed. Well, he should have no right to talk to her that way, but her father wasn't making any move to stop him. Her father wasn't doing much of anything, for that matter. Ignoring the warning look from Jafar that told her to stay quiet, Jasmine continued. "But what if, in preparing, you cause the war you were trying to—"

"Now, now, dear," the Sultan soothed, taking the opportunity to finally speak but offering her no help whatsoever.

"Our princess has read something about statecraft," Jafar said, explaining her thoughts to Prince Anders as though she were a child unable to speak for herself.

Anders nodded. "A charming hobby," he said, equally patronizing.

"The princess is delighted to receive your gift, Prince Anders, as I am," Jafar went on. He smirked, seeming happy to have put Jasmine in her place and aligned himself in the favor of the foreign prince. "Let us see it," he suggested, pointing to the cannon.

Clapping his hands together, Anders nodded. He shouted instructions to his attendants, who began to aim the cannon. "We will target that boat," the prince said, pointing to a lone ship in the middle of Agrabah's harbor. A large target had been painted on its side, and other boats had been moved away to prevent them from being struck by any flying debris. "Prepare yourselves," he announced. With that, he raised his hands and stuck a finger in each ear. An attendant struck a match and lit the fuse. Then they all backed up and waited, fingers in their ears as well.

The flame trickled into the cannon and disappeared, and then ...

BOOM!

The cannon went off, sending the men flying backward and filling the air with thick smoke. "Very impressive, Prince Anders!" the Sultan said, when the smoke had finally cleared.

" Ja, " the prince said, nodding proudly. "It is a very good design."

Looking out to the harbor beyond, Jasmine cocked her head. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Tell me," she said, pointing out at the bright blue water, "which boat were you trying to hit, Prince Anders? Not the one with the target on it?"

Following the direction of her finger, the three men looked out at the harbor. The target boat, its big painted mark still clearly visible, floated atop the waves, completely unharmed. The cannon had missed its mark. It had not, however, missed everything . As Prince Anders laughed nervously, they all looked toward a trail of smoke rising up into the air. Following the smoke to its origin, they saw the mast of a ship—or rather, where the mast of a ship had been. A flag bearing the symbol of Skånland fluttered from the side that wasn't burning.

"Isn't that one ... your boat?" Jasmine asked, her eyes twinkling.

On Jafar's shoulder, Iago began to repeat, "Your boat, your boat," in his annoying squawking voice. But for once, Jasmine didn't mind.

Aladdin stood hidden among a group of street entertainers. In front of him, merchants, servants, and various dignitaries made their way through one of the palace's main gates. Aladdin's eyes narrowed as he took in the heavily armed guards standing watch. The security made it a sort of fortress.

But he had a plan.

"You know what to do, Abu," Aladdin said, motioning to his furry friend to stay.

The monkey nodded. He had been quite agreeable since showing Aladdin the "borrowed" bracelet. Feeling eyes on him, the tiny monkey looked up, noticing a brightly colored parrot circling above them. He shot the bird a look and chattered angrily. He hated parrots.

Then the monkey scampered over and raced up the leg of one of the guards. As the guard began to shout and swing his arms, Aladdin reached out and grabbed an abandoned cloak off a nearby stall. Flipping the hood over his head, he joined a line of travelers wearing similar garb.

Keeping his head down, Aladdin walked past the guards—and right into the palace. AwIGHGfJvsVefAXy9gg3byJwBCKDbzU+RAbfRsF7x/exiwY42YUQ3mUCztR9ZZ0T