“Funny, she doesn’t seem convinced of that.”
“Her mind has been poisoned. She spends too much time reading false histories of mythical queens and fancies herself one of them. Her arrogance and delusions are regrettable, but nothing the firm hand of a husband can’t fix.”
“You animal,” says Aladdin, dropping all pretense of amicability. “You speak as if she were your property. As if she were a horse or a dog to be trained.”
Darian shrugs one shoulder. “Horses. Dogs. Women. They all have their place, and when they try to upset the order, things fall into chaos. If we let queens rule the world, we’d all stay holed up in our palaces embroidering and gossiping.”
Aladdin raises a brow. “And . . . running around beheading people is somehow more civilized?”
“If Parthenia is going to become the power it once was, we need a strong leader. Someone the people look up to. Someone they’ve admired and respected for years. Not some weak prince from some far-off kingdom nobody has even heard of. These people will never follow you.”
“I don’t need anyone to follow me. They will follow her.”
“You don’t get it!” Darian snarls. He moves forward, until only an arm’s length separates him and Aladdin. “She belongs to me! She is my birthright!”
“The only birthright you have is your bloated arrogance,” says Aladdin. “At least that your father could rightfully give you.”
“Don’t you dare insult my father.”
“Your father,” says Aladdin, smiling and swimming closer, “is a self-important, conniving bag of pus.”
Darian turns red. “My father is the bravest man in Parthenia. While the king wasted away over a simmon pipe, my father has held the jinn at bay.”
“Your father,” Aladdin continues, “murders the innocent. He beheads anyone who disagrees with him. Tell me, Prince, how did the king really die? I wonder if he wasn’t pushed into the godlands.”
With a snarl, Darian lunges forward, tackling Aladdin and thrusting him under the water. Aladdin thrashes, plunging upward again and gasping in air, but the other boys join in, grabbing his shoulders and head and pushing him under. He struggles, legs kicking, making the bath froth and overspill. Darian’s face is grim, his lips curled in a tight smile, and he doesn’t flinch.
I shift into wind and gust across the room, forcefully blowing open the door behind which the still-loyal guards are stationed. They look in, see the struggle, and shout out. Darian looks up, his face twisting with rage, and he and his cohorts scramble out and grab their clothes. They run from the room, pursued by the guards.
In the corridor outside, I shift to a girl and run into the baths, jumping into the pool and grabbing Aladdin, who has sunk to the bottom. I drag him up and onto the tile, the lamp clanging on the floor.
“He’s not breathing!” I cry, but there is no one to hear. The guards have chased Darian and the others and are too far away. I begin pumping Aladdin’s chest with my palms.
“Come on, come on,” I say. I should have done something sooner. I was too worried they would find the lamp. I should have changed into a lion and devoured them all.
Aladdin coughs, water spilling from his mouth. I lift him up and turn him on his side so he can empty his lungs.
His eyes, wide and panicked, find me, and he tries to speak.
“Shush,” I say. “You’re fine. You’re fine. Just breathe.”
He gasps in and out, a raspy, watery sound, and coughs up more water. His hand pushes the lamp beneath him, hiding it from view. The guards return now, looking stricken. I toss Aladdin’s shirt over the lamp.
“Did you catch him?” I ask.
They shake their heads.
I turn back to Aladdin, who is beginning to breathe more evenly. He covers the lamp further with his arm, hiding it from the guards’ view.
“I could have taken them,” he says hoarsely. “I was getting around to it.”
I long to hold his head to my chest, so relieved am I that he is alive. But I can’t, not with the guards looking on. So I let him go and stand up, then hand him his clothes. He refuses help from the guards and rises to his feet, taking care to cover the lamp, but doesn’t argue when they insist on returning to his rooms. Two of the guards want to tell Captain Pasha and Caspida what happened, but Aladdin convinces them to let it lie.
“We can deal with him later,” he says. “He isn’t worth hunting down.”
When we are alone again, Aladdin is quiet, and I can tell he’s holding back his anger at being attacked.
I, however, let mine run freely, and I rage around the room in the form of a tiger, snarling and clawing at the floor, my hackles raised.
“Would you stop that?” he says sharply. “You’re setting me on edge.”
“You’re not already on edge?” I growl. “He tried to kill you!”
“He’s done it before,” says Aladdin. “And I have a way of staying alive.”
“Because I’m there to save your skin!”