She left the bathhouse deep in thought, only to find her guards on the steps outside, holding back a crowd.
"What's going on?" Maram asked, craning her neck to see past her men.
"There's some sort of procession in the street. Everyone's lined up to see some prince come to visit your father."
She wasn't sure which of her men had spoken, for they were too intent on the street below to turn when they spoke to her. Gross disrespect she could have the man killed for, she knew, but Maram understood men better than most. Curiosity was a powerful thing, and she had no desire to inspire enmity in her father's guards. If she killed Hasan, she would need them to be sympathetic to her, or they might suspect.
"A gold coin to the first man to tell me the prince's name, and where he comes from!" she cried, pulling the coin from her purse.
A shout came from the crowd: "The Prince of Tasnim!"
More shouts followed the first, but none seemed to know more than the name of his principality. It was enough. She handed the coin to one of her guards, who saw it went to its rightful owner.
She need not have bothered. The prince's entourage appeared then, gaudily dressed men who threw fistfuls of coins into the crowd. Maram did not recognise the livery, for that was what it was – these richly dressed men were the prince's servants.
After them came dancers, whirling in unison, so that their veils and skirts spun like tops. Finally, there were ranks of what she thought were porters, if a lowly porter could afford the silks these men wore. On their heads, they carried dishes piled high with gems much like those she'd seen on the jewelled shrub her father had shown her.
Behind the porters rode a man on a horse so pale it appeared white – something no horse could in the desert, for the sands coloured everything they touched. But they could not touch this animal, as fine as any in her father's stable.
The man...no, the prince, for he wore a crown nestled in the folds of his turban, threw coins into the crowd, too, earning a rousing cheer from everyone as he passed. Maram tried to get a glimpse of his face, to see if he was one of the princes she knew, but the cheering, waving townspeople made that impossible.
The prince passed, followed by another company of coin-throwing servants, and the crowd closed ranks behind him to join the parade to the palace.
Maram cursed inwardly and waited a long time until the road cleared before she commanded her men to clear a path for her to go home. Whoever this prince was, he'd intended to make a spectacle of himself, and she would soon know far more about him than she cared to.
TWENTY-TWO
When Aladdin prostrated himself before the Sultan, he had a sudden image of the Sultan commanding one of the guards to lop off his head before he could rise.
No, he told himself. The Sultan was a wise and just ruler. He'd wait for Aladdin to speak and say something wrong before he executed him. Some reassurance. More than ever, Aladdin wanted to take to his heels and run home, but he knew he could not. He had to save Maram from that man.
"Rise," the Sultan commanded.
Aladdin rose onto his knees. "You Majesty, in thanks for your kind invitation, I have brought you a gift." He waved Berk and his men forward. They laid their baskets of jewels at the Sultan's feet, then bowed again.
The Sultan's eyes gleamed almost as brightly as the jewels he surveyed. "Such a generous gift demands another in return. What would you ask of me, Prince of Tasnim?"
Kaveh's whispers in the crowd had reached the Sultan's ears, then, as he'd promised.
"I ask for the Princess Maram's hand in marriage."
The Sultan's eyebrows rose. "But she is already betrothed to another."
No, she was betrothed to a beast of a man who did not deserve her. "So I have heard, but I understand there is a condition on the betrothal. Namely, her husband must build her a palace befitting such a priceless princess before the marriage can take place." He saw the Sultan open his mouth to respond, so Aladdin hastily added, "I propose a contest between her betrothed and myself. Whoever can build a palace that meets with her approval first, will win her hand."
If the Vizier or his son were present, they would surely object, but the Sultan had granted Aladdin an audience alone, if the crowd he'd brought in his procession could be considered alone.
The Sultan eyed him. "My daughters are precious to me, especially Princess Maram. I would not bestow them lightly on a man I do not know. I will consider your proposal for a day, and give you my answer on the morrow." He gave a wave of dismissal to signal the end of the brief audience.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. But if I may add one thing...I took the liberty of building a palace beside your own which I had hoped would satisfy the princess. If you are of a mind to accept my proposal, I humbly request that Her Highness tell me how poorly I may have anticipated her wishes on the morrow." Aladdin held his breath. He had little hope that Maram would be present tomorrow, but if the Sultan denied that part of his request, he might be more inclined to accept the rest.
"We shall see."
Indeed we shall, Aladdin thought, as he and his men backed out of the audience chamber. Tomorrow could not come too soon.
TWENTY-THREE
Maram stabbed the needle through her embroidery, wishing she'd chosen to attend court today instead of going to the bathhouse to meet with the assassin. Now she'd have to wait until her father retired for the day before she heard what the prince had said.
"Are you thinking of becoming an assassin? I've heard tales of men in the far east who execute traitors by piercing them with a thousand needles."
Maram dropped the needle in surprise. "Father?"
"I have another gift for you today, but it will not fit in here. You must come with me if you wish to see it."
A squad of guards waited outside, and Maram hastily secured her veil, realising they would be leaving the palace, for neither she nor her father required an escort so large within the palace grounds.
Father filled her in as they walked. The prince had asked for her hand, and promised her a palace, just as she'd asked for from Hasan.
"A palace he tells me he has already built – here," Father said with a flourish as the building came into view.
Maram's breath caught in her throat. How had she missed it this morning? Too intent on her thoughts, she supposed, as her men fought their way through the crush outside the palace.
A second palace sat beside her father's, grand and gleaming in the sun. The open gates beckoned her in, and Maram could not refuse the elegant invitation. The scent of rosewater reached her nostrils – whoever owned the palace had seen fit to perfume the entrance steps, a delightful touch.