Part 2

“People of Agrabah, my daughter has finally chosen a suitor!” the Sultan cried to the crowd gathered below.

Alana, jostling with many other girls, watched from a window in the harem. She saw Jasmine standing arm in arm with her intended on a balcony above the courtyard, next to the Sultan.

The assembly could not be called excited. Tense, anxious - those were more accurate terms. Rumors and gossip had been flying for the past several days. First, the boisterous arrival of Prince Ali, then gossip of Jasmine at last taking to a suitor. Then, sudden confusing tales of the prince vanishing, and the princess scandalously disporting herself the past two nights with the Grand Vizier.

So no one had known what to expect from this announcement. The Sultan continued. “The princess will marry Grand Vizier Jafar, four weeks hence!” He paused, perhaps expecting some cheers. Instead, there was a great susurration as citizens whispered and murmured to each other. Jafar was not well-loved by the populace; his policies on tax collection alone ensured that.

The Sultan continued, but Alana did not listen. She thought back on the crowd cheering at the arrival of Ali. There would have been a happy uproar if this had been an announcement of his engagement to Jasmine.

But ‘Ali’ was no more. He had become Alana, harem girl and concubine slave to Jafar. The schemer had used his serpentine staff to turn Jasmine against him. She, armed with its hypnotic power - and Aladdin’s boundless trust in her - had compelled him to summon Genie and waste his final wish on becoming a beautiful woman.

Together they had played with the new girl’s mind, making her crave submission and servitude. Compelling her to take pleasure from being used in any manner Jafar willed. Last night, he had forced those pleasures upon her repeatedly. Even in her heart, she had ultimately surrendered.

She could not be called happy about her fate. Reconciled, resigned - those were more accurate terms. Seeing Jasmine fawn over Jafar was painful. Even if she was doing it out of revenge for Aladdin’s lies, to spite and humiliate the former suitor who had deceived her.

Jasmine this very moment was kissing the vizier before the crowd. Yet when she finished, it was not the throng, or her father, or even Jafar she looked to. It was to the harem window her head turned, knowing Alana watched. The slave girl looked to the ground, saddened and resentful.

Serving the evil vizier in such demeaning ways brought shame, as well. Yet the staff’s suggestions had worked their way deeply into her being. That very shame and humiliation aroused her now. Aroused her greatly. Besides - trapped in this gorgeous, defenseless body - slavery was unavoidable. If she escaped the palace, she would find herself whoring in a brothel within hours. If that long.

Submitting to one mighty, seductively dominant Master was better than servicing the hundreds of grubby men that awaited her anywhere else. Last night, as he filled her kus with his seed, she had resolved to be Master’s favorite. A meager measure of revenge upon the princess, for stealing all Aladdin had been.

“I am so delighted, my love,” Jafar drawled as the various functionaries scattered at the conclusion of the announcement. “I count the days until we are united as husband and wife.”

For once, he spoke the perfect truth. His victory was immensely satisfying. And also, the delays the palace officials had invented to stall the wedding were immensely infuriating. He would be required to keep the princess focused on her (staff-enhanced) rage at the former street rat ... in order to distract her from considering the consequences of marrying him.

Once wed, he would be able to do with Jasmine as he willed. She was stubborn, but the staff could wear down anyone’s resistance, given sufficient time and repetition. As his wife, he would have constant access to her. The princess would become as much his slave as Alana, eventually. Complaisant, servile - and lustful. Until then, he would be forced to exercise restraint.

“I think I want to change into something less stuffy,” the princess said. Her dress was elaborate and formal, befitting a royal engagement. “Then I must continue Alana’s training,” she said, sporting an uncharacteristic cruel smile.

“As you will, my dear,” Jafar purred. A much briefer kiss than the one outside, and Jasmine moved away.

Jafar made a brisk satisfied nod at the girl’s back, then set off to the harem. Soon he arrived at the gate. The guard, long since cowed, allowed him entry. Shortly thereafter he barged into Alana’s room. She had been conversing with her attendant Rubiya. The pair quite resembled any gaggle of gossiping young women, Jafar reflected in amusement ... and triumph.

Upon her Master’s entrance, though, Alana swiftly knelt on the rug and bowed her head. “How may I please you, Master?” she asked, with all evident sincerity, as Rubiya discreetly moved to the corner.

Triumph galore! He had sensed her internal surrender the past night. Even the staff could not have accomplished such a swift and thorough reworking alone. It had laid a trap baited with addictive pleasure; but he was certain that wilful street rat would have clawed his mind free of that before now, mandating further sessions under its gaze. Carefully-cultivated despair had been essential to his speedy victory. Genuine heartbreak and jealousy had eroded the once-prodigious will of the impudent boy. (Love was a vulnerability Jafar would never allow in himself.)

Now Alana did not even aspire to be Aladdin again. She had acceded to the life of a slave girl at her core. Distracting a broken heart with lustful games and sport, soothing sorrow with physical pleasures.

A slave, of course, needed commands. “There is to be a feast tonight, in honor of my upcoming nuptials.” He fixed his gaze upon his delicious property. “You shall be there.”

He spoke sternly. “You must be at your most tantalizing. And at your most servile.” A true smile again, cruel and vain. “They must know that I possess the most beautiful slave in all the lands. And that she is entirely in my thrall.”

Alana bowed her head, and pledged, “I will make every man in Agrabah jealous of you, Master.”

“This is not for vanity, little mouse,” Jafar reproved.

Not only for vanity, he means, Alana thought to herself. Surrender did not necessarily entail an end to all her wits. But her Master continued.

“When they see that not only do I possess the princess’ regard, but that she is willing - nay, happy - to allow me a concubine such as you...” A satisfied smirk. “It will head off ever so much scheming. They will not bother to try to turn her against me.”

He frowned down at the abashed girl. “Those concerns, however, are above your station.” A stern look. “Even a slave may count to two,” he sneered. “So, what are the two things all must see?”

The command was clear: “That I am beautiful, Master. And that I belong to you.”

“Excellent.” He left without a backward glance.

As Alana rose, Rubiya stepped closer. Her new mistress was such an odd girl. Many concubines acted submissive and attracted to their masters. It was a requirement of the position; a lack of apparent passion could lead to punishment, or worse.

Few - if any - drew such genuine pleasure from their owner’s satisfaction as Alana clearly did. Rubiya had wondered several times if the vizier had concocted some love potion and used it on the girl. How else to explain such exaggerated amorousness and ardency for so wicked a man?

But that didn’t line up, either. Surely he would have used it on Princess Jasmine if he possessed some tincture of passion. And she obviously only tolerated Jafar’s attentions as a means of upsetting Alana. The princess behaved almost like a betrayed lover ... yet Jasmine had never been interested in other girls!

None of these mysteries were Rubiya’s concern, for more than gossip, however. She had been assigned to serve Alana as attendant. “What do you think the vizier will want you to wear?” she asked, doubtfully.

Alana wore an expression of intense concentration. “I have an idea,” she said.

The girl kept surprising Rubiya. Her first day in the harem yesterday morning, Alana had trouble dressing herself, ignorant even of the names of various garments. Now she had ideas on fashion? Although, intelligence lurked within the slave. Rubiya had seen glimpses of it...

The attendant had relayed Alana’s audacious descriptions and drawings to the seamstresses, and they were sitting idly before the polished brass mirror in her room, experimenting with arranging her lustrous hair. Alana was indisputably gorgeous, second to none. Jasmine alone could match her.

Suddenly the princess herself swept in. “Stand up, girl,” she called harshly to Alana. “Your dancing last night was appalling. And your gait is much too manly.”

Alana did as she was told, displaying no emotion. Jasmine looked her up and down. “The outfit last night suited you better. Even dressed as a normal girl, you look like a slut.”

Rubiya was still shocked at the princess’s attitude and rude words toward Alana, but she kept her face schooled to blankness. They both followed Jasmine to a small courtyard, where she took the slave girl through more dance and deportment practice.

Jasmine never praised her, quick to find fault. But as yesterday, Alana demonstrated much grace and agility. Rubiya could tell that the girl had never had dance training before her mysterious arrival in the harem. Yet with a bare two days of instruction she was already better than a few of the regular girls.

During a brief respite, while Alana drank greedily from a cup, another of the attendants passed by. “Rubiya, did you hear?”

“Hear what?” she asked.

“Prince Ali’s elephant has gone mad! The creature is trying to climb the walls out of the guest compound, as if it were a cat or a monkey!” The girl shook her head in pity. “They are planning to kill the poor thing, since Prince Ali has abandoned it.”

“Abu!” Alana cried, dropping the cup in shock. “No!” She looked so bereft...

Jasmine was croggled, staring at Alana. “Your...” She stopped, glancing inscrutably at Rubiya. She began again. “Ali’s elephant is... Abu?!” she exclaimed.

The slave girl nodded, mute. Jasmine seemed very troubled.

As the trio of women tried to enter the guest pavilion, a guard waved them off. “Stay back, foolish strumpets! Do you want to be trampled?!”

Then his face blanched, as he recognized the princess. “Forgive me, your highness! Please, forgive me! The beast ... I feared for your safety...”

Jasmine glared, imperious. “Out of my way. We will see him.”

“I...” the man was pained. “The Sultan would be furious if I...”

“He’ll be just as furious if I tell him what you just called his daughter.” At that, she pushed him aside and moved on.

The great gray beast was rampaging about. Tables and benches were overturned and shattered. Men with spears tried to hem it in, but it moved strangely, evading them time and again. Trumpeting in anger.

Alana raced forward, stopping directly in front of the elephant. For all its agitation, it avoided bowling her over. “Abu?” she cried. The elephant frowned at her, turned away ... then turned back, puzzled.

“It’s me, Abu. It really is.” She shrugged helplessly, and sadly. “Ma ... Jafar tricked me.”

When an elephant opens its eyes wide, they become wide indeed. It froze, and the armsmen started to run forward. “Back! By order of the princess, back!” Jasmine shouted. The men, after a pause, dubiously retreated a little ways.

Alana was crying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I ruined everything.”

She hugged his leg, head barely coming up to his chest. The elephant wrapped his trunk around her. They stood still for many minutes, tears leaking down the girl’s face.

Jasmine was troubled. Alana deserved to suffer ... but this poor creature had done nothing. She couldn’t help but think - what would happen to Rajah if she disappeared? Who would care for him?

“Take this beast to the menagerie,” she told the attendants, gruffly. “See that he is treated well,” she said pointedly. “I will be checking on him.”

The elephant turned its head to look at her. Alana favored the princess with wide eyes and an open mouth. But she swiftly recovered control of her demeanor, looking down bashfully. “Thank you, your highness,” she said quietly.

She turned from the slave to the attendants and armsmen. “Do not harm him, and he will cooperate.” She glanced at ‘Abu’. “Right?”

The elephant regarded her carefully ... then nodded, to the amazement of Rubiya and the men. He followed the stunned guards toward the royal menagerie.

“Thank you,” Alana repeated softly.

Jasmine’s lips pursed. Then she snapped, “It’s time to go back to the seraglio. You need more training.”

Priyat felt as though she were in a constant state of agitation now. Managing preparations for a wedding was complicated enough, but it was much harder for one she dreaded. The fact that Jasmine was taking no precautions at all about her reputation was causing enormous headaches as well. On top of which, she was not helping with the wedding planning, spending her time in the harem with the new slave girl.

Sure enough, when she came to the courtyard, the princess was hectoring the courtesan about her posture, making her sit and rise from a bench over and over.

“Like a yak with indigestion!” Jasmine exclaimed. “You need to soften your movements to please Jafar!”

Exasperated - the princess was quite unjust, Alana’s clumsiness was greatly reduced - the Haseki Sultan broke in. “This is not like you at all, being so mean to the poor girl!” Priyat scolded. “What would your mother say if she could see you?”

Jasmine whirled, more harshly indignant than usual. “This has nothing to do with her!” She waved at a cringing Alana. “She knows what she did!”

Rubiya was at a loss. She had thought to see a bit more kindness from Jasmine after the incident with the elephant. Instead, she’d been even more strident and cruel through the afternoon. She exchanged a bewildered glance with Priyat.

The woman angrily shook her head. “It’s time to get dressed for the celebration tonight.” Then she extended an open hand toward the princess, ironically. “Unless you’d care to cancel the wedding?”

At that, Jasmine looked sharply at Alana. “Never,” she hissed. Then she turned and led a frazzled Priyat out of the room.

There was a pause, as Alana sat with slumped shoulders, looking at the door where the princess had left. But after a few moments she stirred, and turned to Rubiya.

“Do you think they have the clothes ready?”

Jafar paced down the halls of the harem, barely glancing about, preoccupied. It was time to retrieve Alana and proceed to the feast. As anyone could tell from his clothes, the vizier was a man much concerned with appearances. He was regretting not giving the slave more explicit direction.

She could not wear something overly scandalous to such an event. The dancer’s garb of last night, for example - that would be ... excessive. ‘Tantalizing’ had perhaps not been the most specific of terms. Could he really expect sartorial sophistication from a transformed street rat?

He stepped into her chamber, glanced past Rubiya standing discreetly in the corner - and stopped. A wintry smile appeared. “Ye-e-e-s ... that will do nicely.”

Alana knelt in the center of the room. On hearing his words of approval, her bowed head lifted. A gratified smile blossoming, as fresh and joyous as springtime.

On her feet, dainty slippers. A curl at the toes, the tops of her feet uncovered. Pantaloons bunched at the ankles, flowing up to a second bunching at the waist. There, a hem of a different shade, dipping in the center to expose a fraction more belly. Between waist and shoulders, only a halter across her breasts; loose hanging sleeves brushing her biceps, midriff and shoulders exposed. Large, solid, triangular earrings.

In other words, an outfit strongly resembling those favored by the princess. But Alana had made the look her own. There were differences.

First, of course, the color. Orange fabric save for the yellow hem at the waist, and the bright yellow earrings. Colors suggestive of heat, fire. Too, the pantaloons fit more snugly than those Jasmine wore, and the halter was so thin as to be very slightly translucent. Leaving no doubt where those nipples were on her magnificent breasts.

Her hair was not bound into a tail like Jasmine, either, though two similar bunches pulled it away from her face. Behind, it hung in gentle curls over her shoulders down to her lower back.

There were two further - more significant - alterations. Of course a slave did not sport a jeweled tiara in her hair; merely a yellow ribbon. And around her neck...

No thick, solid necklace for Alana! She wore a collar, as for an animal. A leash draped in a line from her neck to the floor, pointing at the door where the vizier stood. Inviting him to take hold of it.

“How may I please you, Master?” the harem girl asked gently, still smiling.

Master had detached the leash, deeming it “not in the best of taste” for a public celebration. But he had tucked it away in his robes; Alana felt sure it would be used later. Indeed, to a disturbing degree, she hoped so.

As they moved through the guests gathered in the great throne room, they created a little pocket of quiet. As people caught sight of her, they fell silent. However, there was a deal of intense whispering in their wake. They reached the Sultan fairly quickly. Alana felt shamed and embarrassed; just days ago she had impressed this man as a handsome and powerful prince. Now she was a slave. A concubine...

“Good evening to you, sire,” Jafar said, bowing. Slightly.

“Oh my...” A royal gulp. “Good, good evening to you, too.” The Sultan was distracted, staring down from his throne at Alana.

The vizier smiled. “Ah, your highness, let me introduce Alana. She is the slave we spoke of earlier.” He spoke sharply to the girl. “Kneel, slave, before the Sultan.” She dropped to her knees at once; an odd blush colored her cheeks.

The Sultan looked from Jafar to Alana. He seemed very doubtful. “Oh. Um.” He chewed his lip. “Has ... um ... has Jasmine met her?”

At that moment the princess swept up. “Of course I have, father.” She turned and looked down at Alana. Her expression curdled as she took in the slave’s outfit, so reminiscent of her own. Indignation warred with wrath for dominance, momentarily. Then she gathered her self-control, and her face became neutral.

She continued, “I think it’s very kind of Jafar to take charge of her.” Her jaw was not quite locked, but there was a definite tension as she said, “There is much she needs to learn.”

Alana did not smile. But somehow, she gave off a sense of amused satisfaction. There was a pause. Then the Sultan said, hesitantly, “If you’re sure, my dear...”

“Oh, I am.” Then Jasmine moved forward to kiss Jafar - with a shade more passion than decorum would ordinarily condone.

Aside from the stares and whispers, there were no further incidents before the dinner commenced. The large throne room had been filled with tables, and nobility and prominent citizens had been invited. There was much murmuring when Jafar had Alana kneel next to the couple’s table, though.

Jasmine was ignoring her, almost pretending she didn’t exist. In her heart, however, Alana treasured that expression when the princess first caught sight of her. I may be a slave, but I have some power. Maybe it was unwise to taunt Jasmine, but...

The bride-to-be was the only one ignoring her. The way every male stared at her, greedy and covetous... I love to excite men. I adore being pretty and alluring. More of the phrases drilled into her by the snake’s eyes. Thoughts that felt so authoritative, unarguable. Instinctive.

Those feelings helped her ignore the scorn and disapproval of the women. Their disgust, in truth. In their estimation, she was obviously a contemptible harlot. But oddly, it bothered her less than she would have expected. Aladdin had been scorned and underestimated all his days. Why should Alana be different?

Jafar was enjoying himself. The servants and guards and administrators who came to offer their congratulations after the meal were already showing him much greater deference - in anticipation of his rule. And the rivalry between Alana and Jasmine was delicious. So long as they were wrapped up in that feud, they would scarcely have attention to spare for resisting him.

Then he noticed Qadir approaching; the commander of the garrison in Agrabah. They had clashed before, over many things. Such as how much tax money should be allocated to the country’s defenses versus the opulence of the palace.

The soldier stepped up to the table and paused, surveying Alana in detail; it might even have been called a “reconnaissance in force”. Her blush had barely faltered the entire night, and it did not fade then. He glanced toward Jasmine a few tables away, surrounded by noble ladies and their attendants. Finally Qadir turned to the vizier. “Fortune smiles upon you,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

“Fortune favors the clever,” Jafar replied. A boast and a warning.

“A pity that fortune did not smile upon Ali,” Qadir said thoughtfully. “First those guards attack him - and disappear. And then the boy himself.”

“Fortune does not favor the unwise,” As he said this, the vizier brushed a finger along the slave girl’s cheek, smiling as if at some joke. The girl’s beautiful face betrayed dismay for a moment. Possibly even resentment?

The emotions of females were of no concern to Qadir. “I cannot help but question the wisdom of this marriage,” he said, unflinchingly meeting Jafar’s sudden frown.

A pause. “You object to our union?” the vizier asked coldly.

The commander was equally cold. “I object to the security of Agrabah being subject to the whims and fancies of a flighty, spoiled girl.”

Jafar’s thin smile held little humor. “Your objections have been raised before. And overruled by the Sultan before.”

The commander did not bristle, but a slight tension betrayed his frustration. His voice was even, though, as he said, “A crisis has a way of forcing decisions to be revisited.”

Jafar sighed. “Well, as I was just saying, fortune favors the clever.”

“We will need more than luck to survive if war breaks out,” Qadir snapped.

The vizier frowned, irritated. “We have more than luck. Why, we have you and your mighty scimitar!”

Qadir scoffed. “You might bewitch girls and doddering old men,” the soldier murmured, “but your sorcery is no use on a man in his prime.”

For some reason, the slave flinched at that. Jafar noticed, and his smile, perplexingly, became more confident. “You would be astonished at what is within my power, Qadir.”

Qadir bowed slightly before retreating. “A blade has a power all its own, vizier. As you were just saying.”

Master was irritated for several minutes after that conversation. Alana came in for some baseless scolding.

Jasmine returned to her place at the table next to Jafar shortly after, as dessert was being served. She had witnessed the vizier’s conversation with Qadir from across the room, as a consequence of keeping an eye on Alana’s public humiliation. To see Jafar snap at the girl made her heart glow.

A flagrant kiss, and she sat down. Just then one of the servants came up; he attempted to pour the vizier some more wine. Unfortunately Jafar, head turned to sneer at the kneeling slave girl, did not see this and reached for his cup; some of the wine spilled onto his sleeve.

“You dolt!” Jafar barked, lip curled in anger. “You will pay dearly for that!” The servant paled, babbling apologies.

Jasmine paused. She was inclined to mercy, and feared what the vizier might do to a servant who had made a simple mistake. But she hesitated...

“Master,” Alana said suddenly.

“What?!” Jafar shouted at her, whirling, enraged.

Alana flinched but did not look away. “Surely I am more entertaining to punish than some silly waiter?” As she spoke she leaned forward, pulling in her arms, pressing her breasts together with her biceps. The trampish halter made them hard to miss, prominently showcased.

The display definitely caught his attention. “And what have you done to deserve punishment?” Angry, but ... intrigued.

Sly and humble all at once, her eyes wide in not-quite-innocence: “I have interrupted my Master.”

Sly but very proud indeed, eyes narrowed and mouth curled up in a malicious grin: “Perhaps you should do something more useful with that mouth, then.”

Jasmine jerked her head, shooing away the servant. With luck, the ‘offense’ would be forgotten in the coming disportment.

The princess was irritated ... and a touch ashamed. By all rights, she should have been the one to restrain the vizier’s anger. On the face of it, she had much more power. Instead the slave girl had applied what little power she had.

Applied most adroitly, in fact. The girl now licked and suckled the vizier’s sleeve, extracting the wine with her mouth. If the highborn ladies had been scandalized before, they now were appalled. The princess relaxed, amused at the degrading spectacle.

Yet her hesitation to intercede preyed on her mind. What did it say that she felt afraid to challenge her intended? What did that augur for her marriage?

Once again, the trio entered Jafar’s chambers together. They were not so tangled as the first night. The vizier and the princess walked hand in hand. The slave girl followed, led by the leash in Jasmine’s other hand.

A dark wooden chest a few hands high sat in the middle of the bedchamber. Both girls squinted when they caught sight of it. It must have been stored away somewhere before, gathering dust; it had not been visible the last two nights. Yet it had been polished to a gleam tonight.

Once again, Jafar and Jasmine clinched - passionately, most observers would say. Much of their clothing was removed over the course of a few minutes. Jasmine even gently prodded at Jafar’s groin once his robes were set aside. But when things were becoming more heated ... the Grand Vizier broke away and turned to an Alana grown sullen.

“Ah, little mouse,” he almost sang, “you have been naughty.” The slave looked nervous - and a trace intrigued. Jafar nodded toward Jasmine. “Twice over.” At that, the girl’s apprehension came to the fore. “You should not disrespect the princess so. A harem slave’s attire must reflect her station.”

His words gave Alana a chill. She had thought Master liked her clothes! I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar. Disappointing him was not just dismaying, but grievous ... and perhaps dangerous. Some deep part of her - the part that knew the magic of the scepter was responsible for her attitudes, that she shouldn’t think this way - was shocked at how upset she had become. It did not help fight the feelings at all, however.

Master took hold of the leash, and drew her close, staring down into her timid gaze. “We must punish you appropriately.” A drawn-out pause, then... “Dispense with that insolent outfit.” Alana skinned out of the garments as quickly as she might, impeded by the leash - and slight tremors of her hands. She had pictured stripping gradually before her Master, enticing and arousing him - and distracting him from the princess - but his commands, perforce, overrode her plans.

She worked to calm herself with resonant mantras. A harem girl is submissive. I am obedient. Jafar owns me. They did not help completely. She had been naughty, Master said so...

Jasmine saw the apprehension in the slave girl, and was satisfied. For the moment.

Once Alana was naked, Jafar pulled her to the bed by the leash, and tied it to the headboard. Leaving just a few inches of slack, so she could turn her head, no more. Then, he unlocked the mysterious chest, and from it produced soft leather straps. Slowly, theatrically, he lashed her hands to the headboard as well. His slave was clearly nervous now, but he could also see the dewy moistness at her kus. Things were going even better than he’d planned. He’d anticipated having to invent a flimsy pretext for punishment. In annoying Jasmine, the little mouse had pleased him better than she knew. Better than she should be allowed to know, certainly. So he maintained a mild frown.

Alana watched in roiling uncertainty as Master reached back into the coffer and extracted a dark, wide ribbon - along with a strange contraption. An ivory egg, with long leather straps dangling from either side?

Its purpose was swiftly revealed. The egg shoved in her mouth, the straps tied at the back of her head. A gag that made speech impossible. The last thing she saw was Master stretching the dark ribbon across her eyes, blinding her. In reality, she could not have overcome Master, with his superhuman strength. But like this, she had not even the illusion of possible resistance. Entirely helpless now - listening intently, striving to ascertain what might be happening. What might be coming...