Archive of Our Own

The night is dark, the stars clear in a moonless sky, the only light cast across vast sand dunes. They stretch as far as the eye can see in every direction, and not a soul can be found amongst them. Here, in the middle of the desert, you are completely alone in the world.

Which is perfect.

A speck disturbs the eerie stillness, emerging over a massive hill, and a horse’s whinny echoes across the sands.

Finally.

When the horse finally comes to a stop before him, a short man dressed all in black dismounts.

“You’re late,” he hisses.

“A thousand apologies, O Patient One,” the man says, groveling like a worm before him. It’s disgusting—but he can’t be picky about his associates when it comes to dirty business.

“You have it, then?” he asks.

“I had to pull some very fragile strings to get it, but here, as promised.” The man digs around in his robes and pulls out a golden scarab—or, more precisely, half of a golden scarab.

“You have done well, Loth,” he says as he snatches the item from him.

He pulls the second half of the golden scarab from his own clothing.

Instantly, the two halves gravitate toward each other and snap into place, the now complete scarab glowing brightly.

The scarab then comes to life and takes off across the desert at a great speed, far faster than any real scarab.

“After it!” he orders, and within moments, both he and Loth have mounted their horses and are tearing through the sands after the scarab.

They hurtle through the night, his eyes locked onto his prize and Loth right behind him. He’s so close he can taste it.

The scarab makes a sudden sharp right, and he watches as it splits in two again to lodge into a huge dune.

They pull their horses over just in time to watch it happen.

The sands come to life as the wind picks up, shifting and swirling into the shape of a great feline head many times his size with glowing golden eyes and a great maw filled with great teeth that reveals a passageway down, down, down into the Earth.

“At last, after all my years of searching,” he says, “the Cave of Wonders.”

“Seklos and Gaylen!” Loth gasps beside him.

“Remember, all I want is the lamp,” he says. “Touch nothing else. Complete this successfully, and then, as promised, when all is said and done, you will have your place on my council.”

Loth approaches the Cave cautiously, practically shaking in his boots. But as soon as he tries to enter the mouth, the Cave roars, sending the man flying back from the force of it.

“Who disturbs my slumber?” it asks, its voice shaking the sand beneath them and making his ribs rattle in his chest.

“I-I am Loth Saborian,” the smaller man says.

The Cave speaks again. “Know this. Only one may enter here. One whose worth lies far within. A diamond in the rough.”

Loth glances back at him.

“Go,” he orders.

Even more fearful than before, Loth once again approaches the mouth.

He gets one foot inside.

And then, with another mighty roar, the mouth snaps shut, and its form collapses, turning back into a simple dune.

“Seek thee out the diamond in the rough.”

With that, the two halves of the scarab come tumbling out of the sand, their glow gone.

Val Morando is forced to leave empty-handed. But not downhearted, no. This attempt failed, but he got closer than ever before, and the Cave even handed him his next step!

He must find the diamond in the rough.

///

A young man runs wildly across a rooftop as fast as his legs will carry him, a cat on his shoulders and a loaf of bread in his hands. Below him, marketgoers clog the street, and behind him, several guards are hot on his tail.

“Stop! Thief! I’ll have your hands for a trophy, street rat!” the head of the city guard, Kubritz, bellows.

“You know, one would think they have better things to do than chase down a single loaf of bread,” he says to his cat as he vaults from one roof to the next.

Or at least, that’s what he wants the guards to think he’s doing.

Halfway across the gap, he extends one of his notoriously long legs to catch his foot on a clothesline. He goes careening downward, methodically falling through the abundance of clotheslines in such a way that when he lands flat on his ass, he’s not hurt.

However, he’s now cat-less.

“Archie?” he calls out, looking around. A meow catches his attention, and he looks up to see the sleek, black animal nimbly leaping from line to line until he lands on his feet next to him.

“There he is!”

He looks up to see the guards now looking over the side of the building.

“You won’t get away so easily!”

“What about that looked ‘easy’?” Douxie says.

But he doesn’t have time to muse on that. He springs to his feet and makes for the busy market street—he can disappear easily in the crowd and slink away.

When he steps out onto the street though, he’s halted by a teasing, “Getting into trouble a little early today, aren’t we, Hisirdoux?” It’s this middle-aged woman, who, with her husband, runs the textiles stall to his right. She’s one of the only street vendors who’s actually nice to him.

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” he says, flashing her a cheeky smile.

But then a hand with an iron grip wraps itself in his dirty vest and yanks him around, where he finds himself face to face with Kubritz.

“I’m in trouble.”

“This time you—” Kubritz starts to say, but then, with only an angry yowl for warning, her head is attacked by Archie, forcing her to release Douxie’s vest.

Once Douxie’s cleared the range of her lunge, he calls back, “Come on, Arch!”

The cat makes a flying leap onto the top of one of the stalls and runs over to leap onto Douxie’s shoulders once more.

“Perfect timing,” he says to him. “Now, let’s get out of here!”

He skids around a corner only to run straight into another guard.

“Gotta keep one jump ahead of the breadline.”

The guard lunges with his sword, but Douxie manages to easily duck right under and then, with his momentum still going, springs off the wall to backflip over the second swing.

“One swing ahead of the sword.”

Archie yowls at the guard, catching his attention long enough for Douxie to use his famously sticky fingers to whip off the guard's belt, dropping his pants in the middle of the street.

“I steal only what I can’t afford.” While the guard splutters and scrambles for his drawers, Douxie shoots him a mocking grin. “And that’s everything.”

He takes off once more, but the guards in this city are as endless as ever, a few more cutting him off down a side street.

“One jump ahead of the lawmen.”

He manages to sidestep this guy’s sword in just the right way to get it lodged in the wood of some scaffolding.

“That’s all, and that’s no joke.”

He clambers up a pile of barrels supported by the scaffolding, only to stop to look back down.

“These guys don’t appreciate I’m broke!”

He kicks over the top barrel before clambering up the ladder toward the highest platform. That barrel falls, hitting and knocking over even more on its way down, drenching the guards below with their contents and bowling them over.

“Riffraff!”

“Street rat!”

“Scoundrel!”

“Take that!”

He has to duck quickly when he finally steps onto the platform as one of the guards chucks some produce at him. Hanging onto one of the corner supports, he looks down at them and holds the bread out over their heads. “Just a little snack, guys.”

They gather around the base and shake the structure violently.

“Rip him open, take it back, guys!”

He looks around and sees Archie at an open window waiting for him.

“I can take a hint, gotta face the facts—” he steps off the edge as if to fall to the ground but catches onto a horizontal sign pole to swing himself around and through the window “—you’re my only friend, Archie!”

“Who?”

He looks up at the question and blushes brightly when he realizes he just swung into the local brothel.

“Oh, it’s sad Douxie’s hit the bottom. He’s become a one-man rise in crime!” the girls taunt.

“I’d blame parents, except he hasn’t got ‘em,” the woman who runs the place says, scowling deeply at him. She tries to bat at him with her broom, but he ducks the swing.

“Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat, tell you all about it when I got the time!”

He jumps out the window on the other side of the room, facing the street over from where he just was.

“One jump ahead of the slowpokes.”

Hearing the clamor of the guards, he hides behind a street performer.

“One skip ahead of my doom.”

They all race right on by him, just as he hoped they would.

“Next time, gotta use a nom de plume.”

He darts in the opposite direction toward a flock of sheep penned in for sale.

“There he is!” one of the guards shouts. Well, shit.

“One jump ahead of the hitmen.”

He weaves deftly through the animals, slinking and swerving with the grace of a cat—not coincidentally—while the guards struggle to make it through. Some try to shove the sheep aside instead of moving around them, but the sheep are having none of it. They’re not fighting the guards trying to push them; it’s just that they don’t seem to care enough about the guards’ being there to be moved.

“One hit ahead of the flock.”

He finally comes out on the other side of the pen, Archie on his heels. The guards are cursing him out, and so, while Archie keeps running, he turns around, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and very casually says, “I think I’ll take a stroll around the block.”

He starts at a leisurely pace, and his being unthreatened by them pisses the guards off more, so they come hurtling after him. At the last moment, he leaps over the next street performer, this guy on a bed of nails. The guards, not expecting the new obstacle, eat it on the bed of nails, and while Douxie feels kind of bad for the guy they fell on, he doesn’t feel bad enough not to keep running.

“Stop, thief!”

He reenters the main market just in time to see Archie all up in a fish stall.

“Vandall!”

Archie hisses as the man tries to grab him, leaping to the side and knocking over and breaking several crates of fish.

“Archie!”

He grabs the cat from atop the fish and yanks him away as fast as he can.

“Scandal!”

He runs as the stall’s owner’s wife cries out, only to find himself cornered. Luckily, though, it’s in front of a door.

“Let’s not be too hasty.”

Suddenly, the door behind him is wrenched open, and one of the, ahem, brothel ladies is snatching him to hold against her.

What is happening!?

“Still, I think he’s rather tasty!”

While he appreciates the compliment, he is less than favorable about what’s happening right now!

He rolls out of her grasp as fast as he can and back onto his feet right in the middle of the guard circle.

“Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat, otherwise we’d get along!”

“Wrong!”

They lunge inward, and he hits the ground to slip through their legs with Archie, allowing him to dart away as the cat climbs back onto his shoulders.

He leads them up and down streets, over the coalbed of another street performer and around a sword-swallowing demonstration. When he turns down another street, he sees some have come around to cut him off. So, in an act all of his own, he scrambles up the nearly flawless vertical wall next to him just as he learned from Archie and vaults over the top to land on the other side.

And, of course, there’s no lack of law enforcement in this city. More guards stand on the other side, all going about their business, and upon spotting him, they all draw their swords to join in the chase.

“One jump ahead of the hoofbeats.”

“Vandal!”

He turns to find somehow more of them—really, the Sultan could spend all this money on better things than more guards. Even if he totally disregarded the myriad of social issues, half the buildings in this city need extensive repairs, and the roads are a disaster.

“One hop ahead of the hump.”

“Street rat!”

He scrambles up the stairs leading to the roof of a nearby building, barely keeping ahead.

“One trick ahead of disaster.”

“Scoundrel!”

He dives in through another window at the last moment, tripping them up and buying him some time.

“They’re quick, but I’m much faster!”

“Take that!”

Inside, he looks around and spots a rug, which he immediately swipes.

“Here goes, better throw my hand in—” he shoots one last smile at the guards who have just entered behind him “—wish me happy landin’, all I gotta do is jump!”

He jumps out another window, the carpet positioned beneath him helping him catch some air. This allows him to glide forward as the guards either skid to a stop or just plain fall out of the building.

He leaps onto a nearby roof, looks back real quick to laugh at the image of them all splatted in the manure from the stall he knew was at the base of the building there, and then goes on his merry way.

He’s free to cause chaos another day!

He finally stops in the backstreets, in a small corner tucked away.

Archie jumps from his shoulders as he settles down to eat, and he gives the cat an appreciative ear scratch.

“And now, esteemed effendi, we feast!”

From one of his pants pockets, he pulls out a fish from that stall Archie had tried to rob himself—he always looks out for his constituents, and it’s easy to swipe something when everyone’s looking in a different direction.

Archie takes the fish with gusto, and Douxie’s about to dig into his bread, but a clatter catches his attention.

He looks over to see two small children rifling through a nearby junk pile, a boy who can’t be more than four and a girl who can’t be more than seven. They’re both dirty and gaunt in a way Douxie is intimately familiar with.

The girl sees him looking and shirks back, and the boy does the same once he’s turned and seen him too. But then their eyes grow big at the sight of the bread in his hands, filled with longing and pain he knows comes from hunger.

While Archie chows down—not exactly much two children can do with a raw fish if they don’t want to potentially get sick—Douxie gets back onto his feet and slowly goes over to them, making sure to make himself seem approachable and non-threatening.

“Here,” he says, bending down closer to their level and holding out the loaf. They nervously cling to each other, and he smiles warmly at them. “Go on. Take it.”

The girl stares at him for a moment in sheer disbelief before carefully taking the loaf from his hands. Both children now smile widely, and Douxie ruffles the girl’s hair before walking off.

But a commotion catches his attention. He makes his way back to a main street—the main street, actually, he hadn’t fully registered his escapades landed him so close to the palace—to find people lining both sides. He looks up and down the street to find the source, and sure enough, he sees it—a man and a woman on a pair of white horses, the man obviously a guard, and the woman decked out in enough brightly dyed silk and jewels that Douxie’s pretty sure she’s wearing more money than the entire half of the city he lives in is worth.

“On their way to the palace, I suppose,” a man nearby says.

“Another suitor for the prince,” another man says. “Though I doubt this’ll go any better than all the other suitor visits. I don’t know who the Sultan thinks he’s kidding. Everyone knows the prince is a—”

“Hush! The guards might hear you,” the first man says.

Suddenly, Douxie hears loud giggling, and the young boy darts out between his legs and into the street, his sister hot on his trail, trying to catch him.

Everybody gasps, and the horses rear up, whinnying unhappily.

“Out of our way, you filthy brats,” the woman snarls.

Her guard raises his whip.

And Douxie leaps out.

“Hey!”

He’s just in time to bat off the strike with his arm, the whip wrapping around his forearm with a painful sting but sparing the kids. He then grasps it, yanks the weapon out of the man’s hands, and locks eyes with the woman.

“If I were as rich as you, I could afford some manners!” He then throws the whip back to the guard, who isn’t quick enough to grab it and gets hit in the face.

“Hmph,” she says, jerking her eyes away and turning up her nose. “Deal with him.”

“I’ll teach you some manners!” her guard says. He pulls his horse around Douxie and then kicks him straight in the chest, throwing Douxie to the ground.

The people around him laugh at him, but Douxie’s not done yet.

“Look at that, Arch!” he says, getting back to his feet. “It’s not every day you see not one but two horses with two rear ends!”

The woman jerks her horse to a stop and whips around, glaring at him.

“You are a worthless street rat,” she hisses. “You were born a street rat. You will die a street rat. And only your fleas will mourn you!”

She then jerks her horse back around to enter through the palace gates.

He clenches his fists, muscles trembling, but manages to keep himself in check as the gates slam shut.

He takes a deep breath, and the anger rushes out of him, leaving only a familiar sadness. “Come on, Archie. Let’s go home.”

He makes his way slowly back across the city, moving from streets lined with big, fancy buildings filled with laughter and life to ones with only dilapidated remains, most of them empty shells containing nothing but ghosts.

“Riffraff, street rat, I don’t buy that.”

When he reaches the far end of the city, he starts to climb, moving from streets to roofs, jumping cracks and alleyways alike, making his way up ancient, brittle ladders left behind to rot by people long gone.

“If only they’d look closer.”

It’s the deep evening by the time he reaches his place at the very top of a crumbling tower, with only three and a half walls, three-quarters of a ceiling, filled with dirt and dust. At the far wall, though, there’s his oud and his collection of blankets, pillows, and little knickknacks he’s accumulated over the years and turned into the only place in the world he can call his own.

“Would they see a poor boy? No, siree.”

Archie heads for his bed and immediately curls up, out like a light—Douxie wishes he could sleep that easily. That’d make at least part of his life easier.

He follows and carefully tucks Archie’s favorite blanket around him before going to his window.

“They’d find out there’s so much more to me.”

He pulls back his ratty excuse of a curtain to look out—and while he’s homeless, living in what’s basically abandoned ruins at this point, he knows that he and he alone has the best view in the whole city.

Below him sprawls out all of Akiridion, glowing houses and shops that grow bigger and bigger until, rising high above everything else in the middle of it all, there’s the palace, so grand and beautiful…

He sighs heavily and sits on the ledge, gazing out.

“Someday, Archie, things are gonna change,” he says, more to himself since Archie’s already asleep. “We’ll be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all.”

///

“Ugh! Never have I been so insulted!”

Through a pair of bronze doors storms the visiting princess, looking irate, her face red as the setting sun over the desert.

“Princess Ahmadi! I’m sure whatever happened is just a misunderstanding!”

The princess rounds on the Sultan. “Good look marrying that off!”

She then finishes storming out, stomping from the room, revealing to the Sultan the shredded back of her skirt.

Sultan Fialkov sighs in frustration before exiting through the doors she entered out onto the grounds.

Sitting on the edge of the grand fountain, staring into the water as he gently drags his fingers through it, is a young man clad in pale cyan, with thick, dark brown hair held out of his face by the gold circlet that hugs his temples, which matches the gold necklace that sits on his collarbones and the bangles on his wrists and ankles. Near him, his Maltese Tiger—a gift from a noble from a faraway land a few years ago—is stretched out in the sun.

“Krel!”

As Sultan Fialkov approaches, the tiger pops its head up, and sure enough, in its teeth are scraps of precious silk that match the color of the princess’s skirt perfectly.

“Luug!” he scolds, but the tiger is far too pleased with himself to listen to any scolding.

So, he addresses his son.

“So, this is why Princess Ahmadi stormed out,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Papa, you know Luug,” Krel says, finally looking up at him. “He just wanted to play. Didn’t you Luug?” His attention turns to the tiger, scratching behind his ears. “Yeah, you were just playing with that overdressed, self-absorbed Princess Ahmadi, weren’t you?”

Sultan Fialkov groans in frustration.

“You have got to stop rejecting every suitor who comes to call,” Sultan Fialkov says. “Your sister never gave me so much trouble!”

“Because you found a total doofus from the north she liked on the first try!” Krel says, and his frustration with his father starts to bubble up. “I want that for myself, too! I want to marry for love! Which is really hard to do when you keep inviting princesses!”

“Krel, we have discussed this,” Papa says. “You have a duty to your kingdom. And there are only a few more days until your next birthday, which is when the law explicitly states you must be married by!”

“You know as well as I that forcing me to marry a princess will only make me miserable for the rest of my life!” Krel says, finally standing up to better look his father in the eye. “Forcing me to marry anyone I don’t like will make me miserable, but especially a princess! You’re blatantly disregarding who you know I am, which is just about the worst kept secret in all of Akiridion—don’t think I haven’t heard the servants gossiping with the guards—so it’s not like any of our subjects would be remotely surprised, and whatever face you think you might lose has long been lost already!”

Sultan Fialkov has to take a deep breath before he speaks again. “Fine. If I find interested princes to invite, would you be more willing?”

“As long as you find a prince I like,” Krel says, crossing his arms. “Remember, this is a two-pronged issue. Solving one aspect doesn’t magically solve the other.”

“Krel, please, try to understand—”

“No, you try to understand!” Krel says, cutting him off. He’s not letting Papa brush his issues off anymore! “I have never gotten to do anything for myself. I don’t even have friends! The only person my age I have ever been allowed to talk to is Aja, and now she’s off living with King Steven in Palchukia, thousands of miles away! So, sorry if I’m sick of being controlled! Sorry if I want to decide something for myself for once in my life!”

“Krel, you are a prince!” Papa says. “There are certain expectations—”

“Screw those expectations!” Krel says. “Maybe I don’t want to be a prince!”

“Don’t you start with this nonsense too!” Papa says. “Your sister was bad enough, I don’t need you—”

“Well, maybe she was right!” Krel says. “I’ve tried so hard to be exactly what you want, but we hit one thing that I want for myself, one thing I won’t let you just walk all over, and suddenly it’s the end of the world!”

Krel then turns resolutely away, a silent and scathing dismissal of his father.

King Fialkov stomps back inside, not terribly unlike Princess Ahmedi. He thought the headache was over once Aja moved in with her husband in his kingdom, but apparently not!

Once he’s alone, Krel lets out a deep, angry breath. He can’t take much more of this. When he had Aja, it was so much easier to stuff all of this away—he could be Papa’s perfect prince without complaint because at least he had his sister to lean on. But now he has no one, and he feels like a whistling tea kettle on the edge of boiling over.

An idea hits him.

Aja tried it several times, so as far as Papa is concerned, he’s fully guarded against it happening again—but Krel is not Aja. The palace walls are Aja-proofed, not Krel-proofed.

He’s done with being controlled.

///

“I don’t know where he gets it from. Either of them!” Sultan Fialkov complains to himself, pacing back and forth in his personal study. Neither he nor his beautiful Coranda were ever so defiant, not to his knowledge at least.

There’s the sound of the doors swinging closed behind him, and from the sound of the steps that follow—two shoes and a click that can only belong to a staff hitting the stone of the floor—he doesn’t even need to look to know his vizir has entered the study.

“Ah, Morando!” he says. “Just the man I need.”

“What can I do for you, my Lord?” Morando asks as he approaches, holding the new staff Fialkov has seen him carrying around recently—Fialkov vaguely wonders who he had it made by; it’s quite exquisite craftsmanship.

“Krel is still resisting getting married,” he says. “He refuses to choose a suitor! I expected this kind of thing from Aja. I was prepared for her. But it’s him, and I haven’t the slightest idea of what to do. I’ve never faced this kind of behavior from him before.”

“A conundrum, to be sure,” Morando says, twirling his serpent staff in his hand and musing for a moment before giving him a smile. “I may have a way to find a solution to this thorny problem, but it’d come at a cost.”

“What kind of solution?” he asks.

“I know of a powerful magician,” Morando says, “who could divine the answer to this problem with ease. But such would require payment.”

“That’s of no issue,” he says. He’s the Sultan, he has riches to spare.

“Not money,” Morando says. “The magician takes payment in the form of reagents, things that can be used in spells and potions.”

“Such as?” he asks.

“Well…you do happen to have something of great magical value that is exceedingly rare,” Morando asks. “The mystic yellow diamond.”

“My ring?” he says, baffled. “This is an heirloom. It’s been in my family for generations!”

“I assure you, sire, it is necessary,” Morando says, thrusting the staff forward. He grins as the sultan’s eyes glaze over with a glowing yellow haze. Excellent. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

“Yes, everything will be fine,” Sultan Fialkov says, completely monotone.

“The diamond?” Morando says.

“Here, Morando,” Sultan Fialkov says, sliding his ring from his finger and handing it over to Morando. “Whatever you need will be fine.”

“You are most gracious, My Liege,” Morando says, pulling the staff away and tucking the ring in his cloak. “I shall be off right away.”

“Thank you, Morando,” he says, voice still monotone, eyes still hazy—it’ll take a little while for that to wear off.

“My life is but to serve you, Your Highness,” Morando says with a bow before swiftly departing.

Morando rides through the afternoon and evening straight out of the city and away to the cliffs many miles away. Before the great fissure that splits the cliff in twain, he stops and waits, his breath heavy in the deathly still air.

And then, with a gust of supernaturally cold wind, an echo comes from deep, deep within, a whisper as loud as thunder.

“Come to me. Come to me, and it is yours.”

///

The next morning, Douxie finds himself settled atop the tarp covering a small fruit stand, far enough back that he’s not immediately obvious to passing customers and vendors.

“Ok, Archie, do your thing,” he says, and the black cat wastes no time, jumping down from the tarp and landing with barely a sound.

He carefully sneaks up behind the stall owner and then lunges, sinking his claws into the man’s calves.

“AY!”

Archie runs circles around the man, too fast and nimble for him to catch. And while he’s distracted, Douxie scoops up a melon from the stall.

A couple of minutes later, once Archie’s gotten the man off his tail, he rejoins Douxie on the tarp. Douxie cracks the fruit open on his knee, handing half to Archie.

“Breakfast is served,” he says. “Don’t worry, we’ll snag some fish later.”

Archie meows and digs in, sticking his whole face into his half of the fruit.

Not too far from the pair, a young prince—who escaped the palace quite easily in the dead of night—dressed in a canvas cloak to disguise himself amongst the general population gazes with great curiosity at the market. He’s never seen anything like it—he wonders what all he might find here, if there’s anything they don’t have at the palace.

“Fine young man!” a vendor near him suddenly shouts, looking directly at him. “Buy a pot! No finer pot in brass or silver!”

As he continues, more vendors yell out, advertising their wares as he passes.

“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs! Sugar dates and pistachios!”

“Would the young man like a necklace? A young man as handsome as yourself no doubt has a pretty lady who would like a pretty necklace!”

Ay-yi-yi.

“Fresh fish! We catch ‘em, you buy ‘em!”

The fish vendor’s shout is especially loud and coarse, surprising Krel and making him jump back. Unfortunately, there’s someone behind him, who he all but crashes into. As he stumbles away, he turns back around to apologize.

“Sorry, sir, I—”

The man coughs, looking almost like he’s choking, but before Krel can even say anything, he lets out a loud belch—and flames fly from his mouth! Krel can’t help but gasp at the display. While a little rude in manners, it’s still an amazing ability; he didn’t know people could do that!

The man then meanders away, not even sparing Krel a glance.

“Sorry again!” he calls after him.

His apology floats over the crowd, attracting the attention of a particular young man.

Douxie looks toward the source of the voice, something about it intriguing him, and in a single second, his breath is snatched away from him.

It’s singularly the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen, with rich tan skin, dark, fluffy hair sticking out from beneath his hood, and deep, warm brown eyes.

“Wow…”

The boy continues on his way, and Douxie slides to the very front of the tarp, leaning on one of the support poles to get a better look. He can’t take his eyes off the boy.

Krel continues to look around—for what, he isn’t quite sure. Really, he’s just trying to acclimate himself.

Something runs into his legs, which in turn drives him into the stall behind him. He looks down to see a small boy on the ground, tearing up.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he says, gently bending down to try and help. The boy looks up at him with watery eyes and hesitantly takes the hand Krel’s stretched out. He carefully helps the boy back onto his feet, checking him over to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. He doesn’t find any injuries, but he does see that the boy’s face is thin, and the washed-out color of his skin and hair are obvious signs of malnourishment. He digs around in his cloak and pulls out some of the jerky he’d stolen from the kitchens last night. “Here.”

The boy looks up at him uncertainly, and when Krel doesn’t retract his hand, he takes the food almost reverently. He gives Krel a shy smile before darting off.

Krel goes to stand back up but then notices a couple of apples on the ground—they must have gotten knocked off when he bumped into the stand. He picks them up carefully and goes to put them back when suddenly his wrist is grabbed in a vice grip, and his arm is jerked up harshly.

“No one steals from my cart!” the man growls, glaring at Krel.

“I wasn’t—!”

“So, he’s a thief and a liar!” the man says, jerking him around and then pinning his wrist to the wood of the stand.

“I-I promise, this isn’t what it looks like—”

“Do you know what the penalty is for stealing!?” The man whips out a dagger from his belt and raises it high.

“Wait, the Sultan—”

He brings the blade down.

And suddenly—

“Oh, thank you, kind sir!” Douxie says, grabbing the man’s arm before it can finish the blow. He pulls the arm down into a handshake and deftly slips the blade out of his hand, flipping it around behind him for the other boy to take and get rid of. “I’m so glad you found him!”

Douxie turns to the boy—who thankfully got the message and got rid of the dagger—and grabs by the arm, wagging a scolding finger. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“What are you doing?” the boy asks quietly.

“Just play along,” Douxie says.

“You know this boy?” the vendor asks, grabbing Douxie’s shoulder before they can get very far.

“Sadly, yes,” he says, moving in toward the man to flip the gesture around, making him the one with his hand on the vendor’s shoulder. “He is my cousin. He’s a little crazy.”

“He said something about the Sultan,” the vendor says, swinging Douxie around by the vest, obviously skeptical of the lie.

“He thinks the cat is the Sultan,” Douxie says, jerking the man’s hands from his vest and gesturing toward Archie.

The boy picks up quickly, too turning toward Archie and then getting on his knees and bowing to him. “Oh, wise Sultan! How may I serve you?”

Archie looks at him confused for a second, glances at Douxie, and then puffs his chest and sticks his nose high in the air as if he were, in fact, the Sultan.

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Douxie says to the vendor. “But no harm done. See?”

He scoops up the apples that had once again fallen to the ground and tosses them to the vendor.

“Now, come on, cous, time to see the doctor,” Douxie says, taking the boy by the shoulders and helping him back to his feet. “You too, Archie.”

Carefully, he steers the boy out of the marketplace, trying to do his utmost not to look suspicious, and it’s only when the fish vendor yells out and Archie sprints in front of them with a fish clutched in his jaws that they finally break out in a run, making their escape.

///

Deep beneath the cliffs, down in the belly of the Earth, Morando finds himself before the magician. Or rather, sorceress. Her pale skin and reddish-brown hair are markers of her northern heritage, and she sits cross-legged on a satin pillow, surrounded by lit candles, draped in golden silk. If he didn’t know better, he’d be inclined to think her a priestess or even a princess.

But the darkness in her bright green eyes is enough to snuff out those thoughts. That and the golden chains attached to cuffs around her neck, wrists, and ankles, all anchored to the stone floor.

“I bring you the mystic yellow diamond, Pale Lady,” Morando says, holding out the ring. “I must thank you again for the hypnosis staff you so graciously gifted me.”

She stares at him hard, straight in the eyes. “Save your groveling. Now, I believe we had an agreement.”

“And I intend to hold up my side. As long as you can promise your end is actually fulfilled this time,” Morando says, clutching the ring back to himself.

“I guided you to the Cave and gave you the key to unlock it, didn’t I?” she sneers.

“But you failed to tell me of the failsafe!” Morando says. “You will get your freedom, but only once you help me locate the diamond in the rough! Only he can enter the Cave and get me the lamp!”

“Well, then, we’ve arrived at an impasse,” she says. “To find a diamond in the rough, one must sacrifice a diamond to the rough, and the only diamond powerful enough for the spell within a hundred miles of this place is the one in your possession, which I am magically restricted from touching unless I am freed. So, no freedom, no spell.”

Morando narrows his eyes. “And how am I to know you’re telling the truth?”

“Pray tell, what other option is it you have here?” she shoots back with a smug smile.

Dammit.

“Fine,” Morando says. Once more, he extends his hand with the ring. “Oh, great Morgana, I wish to set you free!”

The chains instantly start turning to dust, crumbling completely. Slowly, she rises, and that darkness in her eyes now accompanies a wildness that makes even Morando’s stomach twist and his heart race in fear.

A low, crazed laugh leaves her lips as she holds out a long, slender hand toward him.

He places the ring in her palm, and she snatches her hand back, cradling it close to her chest.

“Finally,” she hisses between her cackles. “I told that bastard he couldn’t keep me chained here forever.”

“The Sultan did not even seem to know what the ring was,” Morando says. “Said it was an heirloom.”

“An heirloom…” Morgana growls. “Well played. He knew that the Sultans would keep such a thing close and ensure its safety, even generations down the line, all without ever knowing the truth of the ring.”

“Now it is time you hold to your side of the bargain,” Morando says.

“But of course,” she says, then she slinks over to the large hourglass set up at the back of the room—a gift from the man who imprisoned her so she could never forget she was supposed to be trapped forever. Supposedly, it’s a window in the Sands of Time themselves.

She then closes her hand and crushes the diamond in her grip, at last destroying what was once her ring, taken and turned into her shackle by that man.

But she promised she would have the last laugh—and finally, that day has arrived.

She opens the top of the enchanted hourglass, breaking its spell of endless sand. She says something in a twisted, haunting language, her words spun out of sounds that no living being should be able to make. Then, she sprinkles the diamond dust into the hourglass.

She keeps chanting as it filters down, grain by grain, falling through to the bottom. Once the last grain drops, the diamond-sand mix swirls to life within the glass.

“Part, Sands of Time,” she says, suddenly switching back to normal speech. “Reveal the one who can enter the Cave of Wonders!”

Through the whirling dust and sand, he starts to see an image.

“This is your diamond,” she says. “Find him, and the lamp shall be yours.” That disgusting artifact—all too appropriate for someone as sleezy as Morando to pursue it. Fine by her. She wants nothing to do with it.

Morando lurches forward, stopping just short of pressing his face to the glass to get a look.

Through the swirling particulates, he sees a young man dressed in dirty rags climbing up a ladder in the decayed part of Akiridion. He is unusually pale for a citizen, but his midnight hair speaks to at least some native heritage.

“Yes! There he is! My diamond in the rough!”

Suddenly, the sand falls back down, settled at the bottom, completely still once more.

He then realizes Morgana isn’t next to him anymore. He looks back around the room, only to find it vacant. He turns back to the hourglass and finds that, too, has vanished into thin air. He now stands in a completely empty cave, alone.

Morgana is gone.

And her message is clear.

Morando is on his own now.

Well, that’s fine. He can handle one measly street rat.

He can’t help but smile to himself—this time tomorrow, he very well might be back at the Cave of Wonders!

///

“Almost there.”

He helps the boy up onto the next roof. His place is only a couple of buildings over now, so they’ll be there in no time.

As he fully steps up, the boy’s foot catches on the lip of the roof, and he tumbles forward into Douxie. He manages to catch him, but this leaves the two of them in a close embrace, their faces inches from each other as they lock eyes.

He’s even more beautiful up close. Douxie can see the faintest smattering of freckles over his nose, a souvenir of years in the sunlight. His lips are a delicate shape, and his eyes are framed by unfairly long lashes. He could stare at him all day.

Krel is thinking much the same. He hadn’t realized just how golden the market boy’s eyes are, set into a handsome face that is somehow still on the pale side despite his living here, a testament to his northern genes, Krel’s sure. His smile is lovely, and despite his shabby clothes and the hollows of his cheeks telling of a poor background, he holds himself confidently, like he could walk into any room and belong.

When Krel realizes just how hard he’s staring, he blushes and takes a step back.

“I must thank you for stopping that man,” he says.

“Oh, uh, forget it,” Douxie says. He’d do it a thousand times over.

He walks over to the other side of the roof and picks up one of the poles he’s hidden there. He then looks back to see the other boy following with big, curious eyes.

“So, this was your first time in the marketplace, huh?” he says. Not asks.

He gets a running start and easily vaults over the wide gap, landing lightly on his feet. Archie jumps off his shoulder as Douxie searches for something to help the boy across.

“Is it that obvious?” the other says with a quiet laugh.

“Well, you do kind of stand out,” Douxie says, picking up a long board to bridge the gap. He sees the other is blushing a little harder now.

Wow…

He then shakes himself out of his and finishes maneuvering the board. “Uh, I mean, you don’t seem to know how dangerous Akiridion can be.”

The board falls into place, the opposite end slamming down on the opposite roof, just in time for Douxie to see Krel vault over just like he did, landing on his feet without a hint of struggle.

“I am a fast learner,” he says with a smile, tossing the pole to a stunned Douxie, who stares at him with wide eyes. Douxie looks at Archie to find his cat is equally shocked by the ability.

A grin breaks across his face, and he says to himself, “Cheeky.”

He sets the pole aside and goes over to the boy, taking him by the hand to lead him onward. “Come on. This way.”

He leads the boy across the rooftop and up the ladder that bridges the space between this building and his home. Inside, they climb the stairs slowly, Douxie making sure the boy doesn’t hurt himself amongst the shattered stone and broken wood.

“Watch your head.”

“Is this where you live?” the boy asks.

“Yep. Just me and Archie. We come and go as we please. There are no rules to follow, and no one to answer to,” Douxie says as they finally reach his space. He leads the boy across the room and right to the main attraction—the window.

“That sounds amazing,” the boy says, and the words are completely sincere.

“It’s not much,” Douxie says, taking ahold of his curtain. “But it’s got a great view.”

He pulls it back, giving the boy a full view of Akiridion before them.

He takes his usual seat on the edge, transfixed by the sight even though he sees it every day. It’s just so breathtaking, and of course, the grandest thing in view is the palace.

“Palace looks pretty incredible, huh?” Douxie says to the boy.

“Yeah…wonderful,” Krel says with a sigh, turning away from the gorgeous view and taking a seat on what he thinks is the boy’s bed.

“I wonder what it would be like to live there,” Douxie continues to muse, “and have servants and valets.”

“Yeah, with people who tell you how to dress and where to go and what you can and cannot do,” Krel says. He knows the boy can’t possibly know what he’s talking about, but that doesn’t improve his tanked mood.

“It’s better than here,” Douxie says. “You’re always scraping for food and ducking the guards.”

“You are not free to make your own choices, and yet there are thousands of people depending on the choices you make,” Krel says. That’s something he’s never understood—he’s not allowed to make choices, but he’s expected to know how to make them for an entire kingdom once his father is gone.

“Sometimes, you just feel so…”

“You are just…”

“Trapped.”

The two of them both stop in the sudden realization that this other boy understands. They look at each other in awe for a second, and then Krel finds himself smiling softly. It makes Douxie’s heart do something weird in his chest.

“So…where you from?” Douxie asks. He takes out one of the apples he managed to sneakily slip into his pocket before they had to run away. He does a little trick for the boy, rolling the apple down his arm and then hitting it over to him with his elbow.

The boy catches it and stares at it in contemplation for a moment before speaking. “What does it matter? I ran away, and I am not going back.”

“Really?” Douxie says, taking a bite out of his own apple and finally taking a seat next to the boy. “Why not?”

“My father is forcing me to get married,” Krel grumbles. “Even though he knows I have hated every suitor he’s found.”

“That’s…that’s awful,” Douxie says. Genuinely, not just because he himself is rather taken with the boy. “That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to him,” the boy says, and he just looks so tired and sad…

“Is there anything I could do? Maybe?” Douxie asks. “I want to help you.”

“…That is a very kind offer,” the boy says, once more blessing Douxie with that small, almost shy smile.

Suddenly, there’s a loud yowl from Archie, and Douxie looks over to see the black cat dart into the room from wherever he’d been hanging out. And shortly behind him—

“Here you are!” a guard says, his sword pointed at Douxie. He and several more guards Douxie recognizes as belonging to the elite squad under Kubritz are making their way up the stairs, slowed by all of the debris.

“They’re after me!” They both look at each other, shocked. “They’re after you?”

“My father must have sent them,” the boy says.

What kind of resources does his father have to send Kubritz’s elite squad after him!?

Ok, questions later, escape now.

Douxie hops up onto the ledge and looks around before turning back to the boy.

“Do you trust me?” Archie jumps onto his shoulders and arranges himself so that he’s wedged between Douxie’s vest and his back—he knows what’s about to happen.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Douxie extends his hand out to the boy.

“…Yes,” Krel finds himself saying, and he takes the offered hand.

“Then jump!”

Suddenly, they’re both falling through the air from the top of that old tower, their hands locked in a vice grip.

They fall through the shattered dome of a building that was once probably something grand, and many stretched-out fabrics (which Douxie hung himself in case this kind of thing ever happened) catch them and slow their fall until they finally land in a large pile of sand.

Douxie helps the boy to his feet and goes to make a run for it, only to run straight into Kubritz herself.

She grabs him by the throat, her grip almost crushing but just shy of choking.

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we, street rat?” she says with an ugly sneer.

Archie jumps out and attacks Kubritz once more, but the same trick won’t work twice. Guards wait on all sides around them, and once she’s flung Archie off, she throws Douxie to a group of her men, who grab and restrain him.

“Let him go!” the boy demands, hitting Kubritz’s arm. Douxie wants to yell at him to run, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Look-y here, men! A street mouse!” Kubritz says, eliciting laughter from her men. She then throws the boy to the ground. Douxie struggles harder to break free, but then, everything stops, him, the guards, even Archie, the world tilting in an instant.

The boy gets to his feet, his dark robe abandoned on the ground. He is dressed in fine silk, dyed an intense, exorbitantly expensive cyan blue. Along his arms are glittering bangles. Snug on his temples, previously hidden by the hood and his hair, is a royal circlet.

“Unhand him,” he says, voice ringing with authority, a kind of voice that belongs to someone who has wielded such authority for their entire life.

“Prince Krel!” Kubritz exclaims.

“The prince?” Douxie gasps.

The guards scramble to bow and force Douxie into a similar position without letting him go.

“What are you doing outside the palace? And with this street rat?” Kubritz asks.

“That is not your concern,” Prince Krel says, crossing his arms. “Release him. Now.”

“I would, Prince, but my orders come from Morando,” she says.

“I am sorry, does Morando outrank me all of a sudden? Does Vizir Morando have more authority than Crown Prince Krel?” Prince Krel hits back. “And I do not think you’ve yet understood what position you’ve found yourself in—putting your hands on a royal, even if you believe them to be a ‘street mouse’, is a capital offense.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” she says, “Vizir Morando gave us this order with the King’s seal.”

“Excuse me!?” Prince Krel says.

“You’ll have to speak with Morando yourself. Until then, my hands are tied,” she says.

“Believe me, I will,” Prince Krel says. “And know that if any harm comes to him in the meantime, Papa will hear about your transgression.”

And like that, Douxie is dragged to the palace.

///

“Morando!” Krel says, finally having found the elusive vizir. He’s been searching all evening!

“Oh, Prince Krel!” Morando says, plastering a fake smile even Krel can see across his face. “How may I be of service to you?”

“Cut the crap,” Krel says. “The guards took a boy from the market on your orders with the King’s seal. Only, I know for a fact that the only orders with the King’s seal come directly from him.”

“Then there is much you don’t know, Prince,” Morando says, the smile dropping. “He allows me use of his seal when it comes to the most dire of matters.”

“How is arresting a boy from the market a dire matter?” Krel asks.

“The boy was a criminal,” Morando says.

“And what was his crime?” Krel asks.

“Kidnapping the prince,” Morando says.

“He didn’t kidnap me! I ran away!” Krel says.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done for the boy now,” Morando says.

“And what does that mean?” Krel asks.

“I sentenced him to a punishment equal to his crime,” Morando says. “If you’re so desperate to see him again, I’m sure his head is still in the Execution Chamber.”

With that, Morando takes off, leaving Krel frozen in the hallway.

After what feels like an eternity, he falls to his knees, breath coming and leaving rapidly.

I got him killed…he’s dead because of me!

He then crumples onto his side as retched sobs are punched out of him.

I didn’t even know his name…

///

In a dark, dank dungeon that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned or even thought about in decades, Douxie finds himself chained at the wrists to the filthy, somewhat slimy wall, his arms wrenched above his head, static where his hands and forearms once were. He’d tried struggling, but after nearly dislocating his shoulders, he gave up for the time being, figuring if he can’t escape, then he’d have a better time not injured. This leaves him with only his thoughts.

“He was the prince. I can’t believe it,” he finds himself muttering aloud.

He sighs a deep, frustrated breath. “I must have sounded so stupid to him!”

There’s clinking above, a sound too big to be caused by the rats.

He looks up, and in the window against the moonlight, he sees the silhouette of a cat.

“Archie!”

The cat makes his way down, and as he draws closer, Douxie sees he’s got something in his mouth. When he finally lands on the dungeon floor, Douxie can hardly believe his eyes when he sees it’s a key.

But before he goes to the shackles, Archie first bops Douxie in the head, hard.

“Ow! Ok, yeah, I get it,” he says. “This is what I get for trusting a stranger so quickly. I don’t regret it though. He was in trouble. Ah, he was worth it.”

Archie finally situates himself on Douxie’s shoulders and goes at the lock with the key clutched in his teeth.

“Don’t worry, though, we’re never seeing him again,” Douxie says. “I’m a street rat. And there’s a law. He has to marry royalty. He deserves royalty.”

With a click, the shackles finally pop open, and Douxie sighs at the sweet relief of putting his arms down before returning to his lamentations.

“I’m a fool.”

Archie gives him a look that very clearly communicates, ‘I could have told you that one.’

“You’re only a fool if you give up, boy.”

The new voice startles Douxie, but not so much as the sudden stirring of the shadows at the far side of the dungeon. What he’d taken to be a bundle of rags—and had pointedly refused to think about where they might have come from—is actually a person. An ancient, skeletal man with a hunch in his back and a long, scraggly beard on his chin.

“Who are you?” Douxie asks.

“A lowly prisoner like yourself,” he says, getting up with the aid of an equally ancient piece of gnarled wood he’s using as a cane. He shuffles into the moonlight, giving Douxie a full view of his sad state, as well as a view of just how many teeth have either fallen or rotted out of his head. He keeps talking. “But together, perhaps we can be more.” He rubs his fingers in a gesture Douxie knows well—one of his favorite gestures, one that promises coin.

“I’m listening,” he says, sitting forward.

“There is a cave, boy. A Cave of Wonders, filled with treasures beyond your wildest dreams.” The man reaches into his tattered clothing and pulls out a ruby, a sparkling stone far bigger than any ruby Douxie’s ever seen. It’s amazing! That alone could feed him for months, years, maybe! But the old man snatches it back just as quickly as he withdrew it. “Treasure enough to impress even your princess, I’d wager.”

Unfortunately, there’s still a snag. “But the law says only a royal can—”

“You’ve heard of the golden rule, haven’t you? Whoever has the gold makes the rules!” the man says with a wheezing, hacking laugh.

“So why would you share all this wonderful treasure with me?” Douxie asks, getting to his feet.

“I need a young pair of legs and a strong back to go in after it,” the man says. Which is fair—he looks like a strong gust of wind could shake him apart. He’s definitely not strong enough for hauling treasure.

But…

“One problem, still,” Douxie says. “It’s out there. We’re in here.”

“Mm-mm-mm. Things aren’t always what they seem,” the man says as he hobbles over to the wall and uses his walking stick to push out a section of the brick. “I’ve had many years to orchestrate my escape, you know. But by the time I finished preparations, I no longer had the strength required. Until now that you’ve come along.”

The man then extends a hand out toward Douxie. “So…do we have a deal?”

He exchanges a look with Archie, who’s once more perched on his shoulder, and the cat just shrugs.

The decision is easy.

///

Sand whips wildly around Douxie as he helps lead on the horse carrying his new ‘business partner’, who’s directing him across the vast dunes that surround Akiridion. He’s never been so far from the city before—not even the palace is visible anymore, just sand and darkness, not helped by the steadily growing winds, soon to no doubt become a sandstorm. They have to find this cave before that, or else this is curtains for them both. There’s no way Douxie could survive a sandstorm without provisions in the middle of nowhere, let alone the old man with him.

But suddenly, the old man commands him to stop, and Douxie can only watch, perplexed, as he withdraws what looks like a golden scarab from his cloak. The old man raises it high, and it suddenly starts to glow. He releases the scarab, and it comes to life, buzzing off ahead of them to barrel right into a sand dune.

Douxie’s jaw drops as the dune shifts, coming to life, consolidating into an enormous cat head with glowing eyes.

“Who disturbs my slumber?” it finally asks. Douxie does not answer—he’d have to close his jaw somehow in order to do that.

“Go on, kid,” the old man says, kicking him in the ribs. Douxie stumbles forward from the force and is dislodged from his shock.

“Uh…Douxie?” he says, sounding rather pathetic, but he doesn’t think he’s got much better in him right now.

It stares at him for a moment as if looking into his very soul and then says, “Proceed. Touch nothing but the lamp.”

It then opens its maw wide, and down through its gullet, Douxie sees stairs bathed in golden light.

If I can’t touch anything other than the lamp, then how are the riches supposed to do anything for me?

“Remember, boy!” the old man says. “First, fetch me the lamp! And then, you shall have your reward!”

“But if I can only touch the lamp—”

“Never mind that!” the old man snaps, almost sounding angry for a second. “All shall become clear with the lamp!”

He has a bad feeling about this.

But he’s come too far to get cold feet now.

“Alright. Let’s do this, Arch.”

Carefully, he makes his way down the staircase, each step cautious and purposeful. He can’t afford to mess this up, and there are magics at play here far beyond his understanding.

After what feels like forever, he reaches the bottom and finds an arch waiting for him, through which is the source of the light.

He steps through, and the sight that meets him is enough to knock him off his feet and flat onto his butt.

Before him are mounds upon mounds upon mounds of gold, great towering heaps of the stuff, massive statues carved from the stuff, all of it dotted and laced with sparkling jewels.

“Wow…” he breathes, getting back to his feet slowly. “Would you look at that?”

He looks to see Archie’s jumped from his shoulder and is too gazing in wonder.

“Just a handful of this would make me richer than the Sultan!” Douxie says, still half disbelieving this is real.

But he can’t just stand here and marvel—he’s got a job to do. And he can’t even touch any of this until that job is done.

So, he turns his eyes forward and forges onward. How he’s going to find a lamp amongst all of this, he doesn’t know, but he has to try.

As Douxie searches, Archie follows close on his heels, and the cat feels this weird sensation come over him. Like there’s…something behind him…

He whips around but finds nothing. Everything looks exactly as it did when they passed, from the gold, to the jewels, to the ornate rug that’s been left in the middle of the aisle for whatever reason.

Archie turns back to follow Douxie once more, but that same feeling creeps up on him, making the fur on his back stand on edge.

Once more, he whips around, and once more, he finds nothing.

Nothing, but…wasn’t that rug just on the ground? And not rolled up?

Archie doesn’t like this. Not one bit.

He quickly runs over to Douxie and tugs on the boy’s pant leg, stopping him in his tracks.

“What is it, Archie?” Douxie asks, turning around.

Douxie looks around but sees nothing amiss. He shrugs and continues walking.

Archie huffs and is about to try again when, out of nowhere, he feels something grab his tail.

Behind Douxie, Archie yowls, loud and panicked, and Douxie doesn’t even have time to turn back around before he’s sent flying to the ground, bowled over by his cat rocketing into him.

He struggles to untangle the feline from his vest, “Archie! Archie, what’s wrong!?” But then, he stops.

He finds himself staring at…a carpet?

“Woah,” he says, finally getting Archie off of him and getting to his feet. “A magic carpet!”

The carpet shirks away from him like it’s nervous or scared.

“Come on out,” he says, beckoning it forward. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

It approaches them, mimicking a bipedal walk, and Archie scrambles onto Douxie’s shoulder and hisses at it.

The carpet flinches back.

“It’s alright!” Douxie says. “I think you just startled him.”

Archie grumbles at him.

“Play nice, Archie. It lives here, we don’t,” Douxie chides, which earns him another whap in the head from the feline.

An idea hits him.

“Hey! Do you think you could help us?” he asks the carpet.

It perks up at that and then jumps into the air, flying over and curling around Douxie in something like a hug before it floats back a few inches and seems to be waiting expectantly.

“You see, we’re trying to find this lamp,” Douxie says, and the carpet makes an excited loop around itself before using a tassel to beckon Douxie to follow it and taking off.

Douxie has to jog to keep up with the carpet as it bobs and weaves through the massive room. He follows it through another arch into a dark cavern full of odd rock formations, winding and confusing. Without Carpet, he’d almost certainly have never found his way through it.

They go through several more areas, each darker and danker than the last, each deeper in the earth, until, at last, Carpet leads them through another archway.

Douxie finds himself in another large cavern, though this one has only one attraction—at the center of a pristine lake is a massive column of stacked stone, at the top of which Douxie can see something glinting in an ethereal spotlight.

He looks at Carpet, and Carpet points aggressively with a tassel.

That must be the lamp!

He goes to the edge of the lake and finds a series of stones dotting the water, leading to a set of steep stairs carved into the column.

“Wait here,” he tells Archie. He doesn’t want him to accidentally fall into the water.

He picks his way across the stones, hopping from one to the next on nimble feet, his years of scrambling across rooftops really coming in clutch with the balance and agility they gave him.

At the shoreline, Archie watches as Douxie crosses—at least until a glint in the water catches his eye. He slinks over toward the glint, and to his great surprise, there are fish swimming in the water. But not just any fish—no, they’re bejeweled salmon, hundreds of elegantly cut gemstones glittering like scales as they drift lazily through the still water. His stomach growls, loud and insistent at the sight. Salmon are so rare to find, and it’s been so long since he last had any…

Douxie makes his way up the stairs, apprehension growing in his gut. What’s so special about this lamp? Is it dangerous? What if this isn’t the lamp? What happens if they touch something thinking it’s the lamp, but it’s not?

Meanwhile, Archie finds himself drawing closer to the water. They’re not supposed to touch anything…but these are alive…and the stupid carpet is alive and was fine pulling on his tail…maybe just a taste…

Waiting for Douxie at the very top, sitting on a pedestal in the spotlight, is certainly a lamp. He takes a deep breath, carefully reaches out, and picks it up.

Nothing happens, and he releases a great sigh of relief.

He looks the item over—it’s bronze and obviously old. Overall, it’s entirely unremarkable. It could fetch him enough to eat for a couple of days, maybe.

“This is it?” he wonders aloud. “This is what we came all the down here to…”

He looks back at his companions, only to see a distinct black form reaching a paw into the water towards something sparkling brightly.

“ARCHIE, NO!”

Archie swipes up his dearly sought-after salmon.

And instantly, the room starts to quake.

“INFIDELS! YOU HAVE TOUCHED THE FORBIDDEN TREASURE!”

Archie drops the fish back into the water. But it’s too late for that. The damage has been done.

“NOW YOU WILL NEVER AGAIN SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY!”

From the pedestal erupts a massive column of fire as rocks start to fall, splashing into the previously still lake, the cavern beginning to crumble around them.

Douxie stuffs the lamp into his pants and takes off down the stairs, but they suddenly flatten beneath his feet, sending him careening downward. As he rapidly approaches the lake, he realizes that instead of water, lava now waits for him.

At the bottom, the slide curves upward, and Douxie finds himself flying.

Just before he would have hit the lava and met his untimely end, Carpet zooms underneath him, catching him in the nick of time. Archie’s already aboard, claws sunk into the fabric to keep him anchored, and now that it has them both, Carpet zips straight for the archway.

They fly through the caverns and back toward the entrance, Carpet bobbing and weaving, keeping just ahead of the swiftly encroaching lava, waves of molten rock crashing mere feet from them.

Suddenly, there’s another great rumble, and boulders cascade down from the ceiling far above them. Carpet barely manages to dodge them, a skillful maneuver that’s just as much Carpet’s natural skill as it is Douxie helping direct it, but a rock nearly clips Douxie and Archie, frightening the cat and driving him to leap onto Douxie, clinging to his shoulders and vest.

“Archie!” he yelps as sharp claws dig into him. “This is no time to panic!”

He looks ahead only to see a solid wall at the end of the tunnel they’re in.

“Ok. Start panicking.”

The world flips and spins as Carpet makes a sharp 90-degree turn. Only his own forceful grip keeps Douxie, and therefore Archie, attached to Carpet as they rocket downward, only for his stomach to drop right out of him with another sharp turn just before they hit the ground.

They find themselves back in that first room with the seemingly endless gold—gold that is quickly melted into nothing by the relentless lava. More columns of fire erupt around the room, some taking shape into massive, blazing claws that reach and snap, seeking to drag them to their doom. But Carpet manages to dodge them all, swooping and zooming and darting to and fro. Douxie can feel the ends of his hair are singed from the near misses, but he doesn’t care—he’s alive, and he owes it all to an oriental rug!

As they fly through the first arch and back over the staircase, Douxie can hear the clap of thunder outside and see the flashing of lightning. The Cave’s fury is so great that it’s affecting the weather around it. Beneath them, the stone stairs crumble, collapsing in on themselves, a death sentence if he’d been on foot. But all Douxie can focus on is how close the exit is and how near they are to escape.

But their luck has run out. More rocks fall from above them, and an especially large boulder strikes Carpet, sending Douxie and Archie flying. They both ram into the broken remains of the stairs near the teeth, and Douxie scrabbles for purchase, barely finding it in time to keep himself from falling to his death.

He tries to climb, but the rock is too fragile, crumbling beneath his foot when he tries to boost himself upward. Looking back up, he sees the old man looking down at him.

He reaches out desperately. “Help me out!”

“Throw me the lamp!” the old man demands.

“I’m literally about to fall to my death! Give me your hand!” he yells back.

“First, give me the lamp!”

Yeah, he’s about to die here, isn’t he?

Still, he fishes the lamp out and tosses it up the man.

The man catches it and bursts into maniacal laughter, high-pitched and crazed, sending chills down Douxie’s spine. He raises the lamp to the heavens with a cry, “YES! At last!”

As he exalts in his victory, Archie finally manages to claw his way out and turns to try to help Douxie.

The old man sees this as he tucks the lamp into his clothing and uses his cane to bat the cat away before crouching down and taking Douxie’s wrist in a vice grip.

“What are you doing!?”

“Giving you your reward! Your eternal reward.”

Douxie’s eyes widen as he watches the man raise a dagger.

Before he can bring the weapon down, though, Archie leaps onto him and bites his wrist hard, blood spurting from the wounds and dripping down the man’s arm. He howls in pain and lets go of Douxie.

And Douxie falls, quickly followed by Archie, who’s thrown down by the old man.

His scream echoes around him as he descends into the depths, sure his final moments are upon him.

But he forgot about Carpet—the rug finally manages to wriggle free from under the boulder that hit it and zips forward, catching Douxie and Archie and saving them from becoming grisly splatters on the rock far below.

///

Outside, the feline head finally collapses in on itself and melts into the sand, the dune gone, the cave sealed.

The old man just stands there for a moment, the events settling upon him, and then he laughs.

The cave might be gone, but he has the most valuable treasure of all!

“It’s mine!” he cackles into the now silent night, ripping off his fake beard and discarding the walking stick. “It’s all mine!”

Morando reaches into his ratty clothes to withdraw the lamp.

But it’s not there.

“Where is it?”

He searches frantically through his garments and around the surrounding area. “No!”

It’s nowhere to be found.

“NO!”

///

Back in the palace, Fialkov once more finds himself on the cusp of what is sure to be a difficult conversation with his son. But he can’t allow his track record for successful, meaningful conversations with Krel to hold him back. Krel is positively despondent, and it is Fialkov’s job as his father to try and help him.

He steels himself and then steps into his son’s room. “Krel? What’s wrong?”

Krel turns around to look at him, eyes glassy. “Morando…he…he did something terrible…but…oh, Seklos and Gaylen, it’s all my fault…” he then buries his face in his hands.

“I’m sure whatever Morando has done can be fixed,” Fialkov says, taking a seat next to the upset boy. “Please, talk to me, Krel. I want to help you.”

Krel bites his lip, uncertain for a moment, but then he nods and launches into his story.

///

When Douxie comes to, it takes a moment to put the pieces together in his pounding head.

But as Carpet helps him sit up, the extent of his situation fully hits him.

He’s in a dark, cold cavern. What remains of the Cave of Wonders.

Only there are no more wonders left—and no way out.

“We’re trapped,” he says, staring up at where the exit once was. Anger wells up inside of him as the last few moments before he fell come back to him. “That two-faced son of a jackal!”

And it floods out of him just as quickly. “Ugh. Whoever he was, he’s long gone with that lamp.”

Archie chirps at him, getting his attention. Douxie looks and finds a very smug expression on the cat's face. Archie trots over to Carpet, and from beneath it, he drags out…

“The lamp!” Douxie gasps. Archie must have snatched it before he was thrown! Archie brings it over to Douxie, and he takes it carefully in hand. Looking over it again, he can’t understand why in the world it’s supposedly so valuable. “It looks like such a beat-up, worthless piece of junk.”

He holds it closer, trying to see if there’s any detailing he missed, and he finds what looks like strokes carved into the bronze. “Hey, I think there’s something written here, but it’s hard to make out…”

He tries to rub away some of the dust and dirt.

And then the lamp starts to glow.

Smoke pours out of it as explosions of color ricochet off the walls of the cavern, loud sparks of light exploding all around them. The smoke gathers, thickening by the second, and swirls around Douxie in a loop before coalescing into…

“Oy! Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck,” a giant, glowing, orange…thing with ginger hair and a red diamond-pattern vest and matching fez says before grabbing Douxie by his own vest and hanging him up like he’s a coat in mid-air. “Just a second!”

The thing proceeds to lift its head from its shoulder, turn it 360 degrees, and then put it back on.

“Woah! Does it feel good to be outta there!” it says, and Douxie falls to the ground, whatever invisible force that had been holding him up now gone. “I’m telling you, nice to be back, ladies and gentlemen!”

It talks as if to an audience and then points at Douxie. “Hi! Where are you from, what’s your name?”

“Uh…Hisirdoux,” Douxie says, too taken off guard to really do anything but answer the question.

“Hisirdoux!” it—he, Douxie thinks—says. “Hello, Hisirdoux. Nice to have you on the show.”

Show?

“Can we call you Douxie? Or maybe just Doux?” the orange guy continues.

“Oof. I must have hit my head harder than I thought,” Douxie says.

“Yo, Rugman!” he suddenly says. “Haven’t seen you in a few millennia. Give me some tassel!”

Carpet flies up to him and slaps his hand with its tassel in an imitation of a high five. Then, his attention turns back to Douxie.

“Say, you’re a lot smaller than my last master,” he says, getting in close, which only exaggerates the size difference between the two, the orange being towering over him.

“Wait a minute, I’m your master?” Douxie says.

“That’s right!” the thing says, slapping a weird hat on his head and giving him a scroll of parchment. “He can be taught!” Both the hat and the scroll disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What do you wish of me?” the thing asks Douxie. “The ever-impressive, the long-contained, the often-imitated but never duplicated—” he proceeds to duplicate himself several times before they all slam back together for a final declaration “—Genie of the Lamp! But you can call me Toby.”

“Woah, woah, woah, a genie?” Douxie says, getting to his feet. “Do you grant wishes?”

“Three wishes, to be exact,” the genie, Toby, says. “And ixnay on the wishing for more wishes! That’s it, three, uno dos tres! No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds.”

“Ha, now I know I’m dreaming,” Douxie says to Archie. It’s all so ridiculous, there’s no way he’s actually conscious right now. Like, half those words were pure gibberish!

“Master, I don’t think you quite realize what you’ve got here!” Toby says. He then uses his magic to set Douxie and Archie atop a conveniently placed rock before lighting up an even brighter orange. “So why don’t you just ruminate whilst I illuminate the possibilities?”

It’s been far too long since Toby last got to perform for someone! It’s time to get this party started! “Well, Ali Babba had them forty thieves. Scheherazade had a thousand tales. But Master, you’re in luck ‘cause up your sleeve, you got a brand of magic never fails!

“You got some power in your corner now! Some heavy ammunition in your camp! You got some punch, pizzazz, yahoo, and how!” He shrinks down and zips to his lamp, taking the boy’s hand and rubbing it against the dull bronze. “See, all you gotta do is rub that lamp, and I’ll say—”

Toby then swirls out of the lamp in a trail of smoke.

“Mr. Hisirdoux, sir, what will your pleasure be?” In a flash, Douxie is situated at a fancy table, and Toby is now dressed in a black and white suit and holding a pad and pen. “Let me take your order, jot it down. You ain’t never had a friend like me!” Toby then lifts the lid off the meal set before Douxie, only to also be beneath it. “Life is your restaurant, and I’m your maître d’! Come on, whisper what it is you want.”

The table poofs out of existence and Toby splits himself in four. “You ain’t never had a friend like me!”

The four genies then swarm Douxie, and he quite suddenly finds himself being primped, picked, and preened, one on his nails, another on his hair, one shaving his face, and the last rubbing his feet. “Yes, sir, we pride ourselves on service.”

Just as quickly, the four around him vanish and are replaced by a throne, two servants fanning him, and mountains of gold. “You’re the boss, the king, the shah!”

Toby pops back up behind the throne, and with a wave of his hand, he conjures a feast before Douxie, more food than Douxie thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life! “Say what you wish, it’s yours! True dish!” Douxie’s fez is suddenly grabbed off his head, and he’s buried by a flood of pastries from within. “How about a little more baklava!”

If Douxie thought he couldn’t get dizzier, well, he couldn’t have been more wrong—he’s lifted way up from beneath the baklava on a huge, white column. He can barely keep his balance as it shoots high into the air. “Try some of column ‘A’—” the column finally tips, sending him falling, only to land on the top of another rising column, this one entirely made of fruit “—try all of column ‘B’!”

Douxie can’t catch himself, though, and freefalls through empty space until he lands on a pillow held by Toby, the world around him tilting and spinning. “I’m in the mood to help you, dude! You ain’t never had a friend like me!”

Toby starts to dance, Douxie’s got that much, but he’s too dazed to really take it in. By the time the stars stop circling his head, Toby’s moved into his next grand, magical display.

“Can your friends do this?” Toby takes off his head and juggles it, duplicating it into two, three, four.

“Can your friends do that?” Douxie finds himself juggling now, magic pulling on his limbs and allowing him to juggle with one hand while spinning one of the heads on the pointer finger of his other hand.

“Can your friends pull this—” Toby takes his head back and once more snatches Douxie’s hat off his head, pulling himself through in an endless loop before poofing into a rabbit, holding onto his own ears like he’s holding himself up “—out their little hat?

“Can your friends go poof!” He transforms into a dragon and lets out a jet of fire that metamorphizes into three scantily clad women who come over to Douxie and start dancing around him, and Douxie doesn’t know if he’s ever felt more awkward. “Well, look-y here!

“Can your friends go abracadabra, let ‘er rip!” Toby grabs onto his ears, literally ripping himself in half, the two parts vanishing in smoke.

“And then make the sucker disappear?” The three women, still dancing, disappear in a shower of sparks.

A teeny-tiny Toby then pops back into existence right in front of Douxie’s face. “So don’t you sit there, slack-jawed, buggy-eyed! I’m here to answer all your midnight prayers!”

And in a whirl, he turns into a huge official-looking certificate. “You got me bona fide, certified! You got a genie for your charge d’affairs!” Douxie can barely yelp before he’s rolled up entirely in the parchment.

“I got a powerful urge to help ya out—” Toby spins Douxie back out and then grabs him to keep the boy from falling flat on his ass. “—so what you wish, I really wanna know.”

Mimicking another stage trick, Toby reaches behind Douxie’s ear, only to start pulling a long scroll out of his ear. “You got a list that’s three miles long, no doubt, so all you gotta do is rub like so, and oh!”

With a snap of the list like a whip, the scene around Douxie changes, the three women reappearing from behind him. “Mr. Hisirdoux, sir, have a wish or two or three!”

One goes to kiss him, and Douxie stumbles back, running right into Toby, who wraps his arm tight around Douxie’s shoulders. “I’m on the job, you big nabob!

“You ain’t never had a friend, never had a friend—”

Toby conjures up an entire circus: acrobats who flip and spin above their heads, sword jugglers, fire eaters! But he can go bigger!

“You ain’t never had a friend, never had a friend—”

Toby conjures up a menagerie of dancing animals, everything from elephants to camels to tigers to birds, all of them in perfect time with each other. No, bigger!

“You ain’t never!”

Bring back the throne!

“Had a!”

And the mountains of gold!

“Friend!”

Give him boats filled with treasure from faraway lands!

“Like me!”

Servants and adorers by the hundred, all at his every whim, all bowing to him!

“You ain’t never had a friend like me!”

The scene around Douxie collapses in on itself, sucked like mere vapor right back into the lamp, leaving him on that rock, Archie and Carpet next to him, and Toby in a final, dramatic pose.

Was…was that real? What just happened?

The way Carpet is enthusiastically clapping for Toby tells him it probably was.

Holy shit.

“So, what’ll it be, Master?” Toby asks.

“So…you can grant me any three wishes I want?” Douxie asks.

“Well, there are a few provisos, a couple of quid pro quos,” Toby says.

“Like?” Douxie asks.

“Rule number one!” Toby says, zooming over and shrinking slightly to sit next to Douxie on the rock. “I can’t kill anybody.”

He then draws his thumb across his neck in a beheading gesture and beheads himself, his head flipping from his shoulders and into his hands, and he says, “So don’t ask.”

Toby replaces his head as easily as it came off and continues. “Rule number two! I can’t make anybody fall in love with anybody else.” He proceeds to grab Douxie and plant a big smooch on his cheek.

“And rule number three!” he says, throwing his torso back and lying flat as a board before turning sickly green and sitting up like a zombie. “I can’t bring people back from the dead.

“Other than that, and the golden rule of no extra wishes,” he says, flying back to his original position looming over Douxie, just as orange as he was before, “you got it!”

Douxie knows what he has to do first, and he goes to wish for the genie to get them out of the cave, but then he stops. An idea dawns on him.

“Provisos? You mean limitations? On wishes?” Douxie says with a scoff, turning as if speaking to Archie. “Some all-powerful genie. Can’t even bring people back from the dead!”

Toby’s looking at him with an expression of such offense that Douxie knows he’s got him on the hook, on the line, and all he needs now is the sinker.

“I dunno, Archie,” he says, standing up. “I bet he can’t even get us out of this cave. Looks like we’re gonna have to find our way out.”

A giant foot lands in front of him, drawing his eyes far upward to the offended genie. “Excuse me? Are you looking at me? Did you rub my lamp? Did you wake me up? Did you bring me here? And all of a sudden, you’re walking out on me?”

Douxie exchanges a conspiratorial smile with Archie.

“I don’t think so!” Toby continues. “Not right now. You’re getting your wishes, so sit down!”

Suddenly, he finds Carpet behind his knees, and he sit-falls onto the rug, Archie jumping up shortly after him. Toby shrinks in size and takes his own seat on Carpet behind Douxie.

“In case of emergency exits are anywhere,” Toby says as Douxie pulls up his legs. “Keep your hands and arms inside the carpet, ‘cause we’re—”

With that, Carpet flies upward, picking up impressive speed, and the genie uses his magic to burst through the stone and sand, letting them out into the cold desert night.

“—outta here!”

///

“Morando, you’ve gone too far!” Fialkov says, seated on his throne built on a dais that allows him to loom above the tall vizir even with him sitting and said vizir standing. He knows Morando—he responds to power. “If it were not for your years of loyal service, I would have you banished!”

He then stands, making him loom even further above Morando. “And do not think that banishment or other such punishments are not still on the table. You will leave execution sentences to me from now on.”

“I assure you, Your Highness, it won’t happen again,” Morando says, kneeling and bowing his head.

“It had better not,” Fialkov says. “Because this is your sole and final warning.”

“I understand, Your Highness,” Morando says. “I am terribly sorry.”

“I am not the one you should be apologizing to,” Fialkov says.

Morando raises his head, and his eyes flick over to the prince standing at his father’s side. Honestly, banishment would almost be better than apologizing to the annoying brat. Almost.

So, he puts on his most apologetic expression and bows his head to the prince. “My most abject and humblest apologies to you, Prince Krel.”

Krel scoffs in disgust at the man and turns away. He knows good and well that Morando is lying through his teeth.

At least some good will come from my being forced to marry. When I am Sultan, I will have the power to get rid of him.

“Now that things have been made clear,” Fialkov says, “I must insist we return to the matter of a suitor, Krel—”

He looks over only to find his son making his swift exit.

He sighs deeply. “I swear…you went to see a magician about this, right? I vaguely recall you mentioning something like that yesterday.”

Morando once more looks at the king. “Indeed. I received no direct solution, but I now know of a couple of paths worth exploring. I shall alert you immediately should one of these paths prove fruitful.”

“Thank you, Morando,” Fialkov says. Then he turns and calls out loudly, his authoritative voice carrying through the large hallways, “Krel! You cannot run away from your duty forever!”

Morando watches as the king disappears from the throne room after the prince, leaving him alone. Apologetic morphs into a rageful sneer, and he growls.

“If only I had gotten that lamp,” he seethes to himself. He knows how this ends for him—the moment the brat finds a spouse, Morando is sure his banishment will be nigh. Or even his execution—the prince has a vindictive streak, after all.

He goes out onto one of the balconies to see the royals once more arguing, no doubt about the suitor business.

He needs a new plan. Without the lamp, his avenues to the throne are severely limited.

There is the staff gifted to him by Morgana—but she told him its power has limits. According to Morgana, the less likely someone is to do something of their own will, the harder it is to hypnotize them to do it. So, he gets the distinct feeling trying to hypnotize the Sultan to hand over his throne would be taking on a task too monumental for the staff to achieve.

He could assassinate the pair. But that would bring questions and comes with a high risk of being caught and undoubtedly executed.

He could organize a coup. But the time he would need to amass a large enough following is far longer than he has. There are only mere days until the prince marries, forced or otherwise, and then he would ascend to Sultan and his spouse to Sultana or Sultan—

Wait.

Oh, now there’s an idea!

That’s perfect.

If he were to marry the prince, he would be directly in line for Sultan! And then he could rid himself of Fialkov and the prince without worry—no one would have the power to stop him or investigate him after the fact. All he needs is to figure out how to present this to the Sultan.

He turns away from the scene outside—he has a scheme to concoct.

///

Carpet descends into a small oasis under the morning sun, and Douxie has never been so grateful to feel the rays on his face or the sand beneath his feet as he hops down.

“Well, how about that, Mr. Doubting-Mustafa!” Toby says.

“You sure showed me,” Douxie says. “Now, about my three wishes—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Toby says. “Three? You are down by one, boy!”

“Am I?” Douxie says, smiling widely at the genie, which seems to unsettle him.

“Um, yeah?” Toby says.

“I dunno, I don’t recall making any wishes down there,” Douxie says.

“But…out of the cave?” Toby says, still trying to figure it out.

Douxie decides to take pity on him.

“I never actually wished to get out of the cave,” he says. “You did that on your own.”

Toby stares at him for a couple of seconds, his words computing in the genie’s head, and then his jaw drops, which makes Douxie laugh.

“Alright, alright!” Toby finally says, cutting off his laughter. “But no more freebies!”

“Fair enough,” Douxie says. “So, three wishes. I want them to be good.”

He walks around the little oasis for a minute or two, running through his options. He has to play this smart—he has to make each wish count.

Eventually, he turns to Toby, who’s floating as if in a hammock.

“What would you wish for?” he asks.

“Me?” Toby says, utterly shocked. “No one’s ever asked me that before. Well, in my case…no, no, just forget it.”

“What?” Douxie asks, walking over to the now sulky genie. “Come on, tell me.”

Toby stares him right in the eyes and says, “Freedom.”

“You’re a prisoner?” Douxie asks, the lamp in his hands taking on a new weight.

“It’s part and parcel of the whole genie gig,” Toby says.

He grows enormous, and Douxie’s eyes cross, his brain hurting as it tries to comprehend how reality bends around the genie. “Phenomenal cosmic power!”

Toby then shrinks just as quickly, smoke funneling back into the lamp. Douxie opens the lid to see the genie all squished inside. “Itty bitty living space.”

“That’s…awful,” he says. And he’s being completely genuine when he says that. He knows what it feels like to be trapped—maybe not on the same level, but it’s the same down at the core. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“But, oh, to be free,” Toby continues, funneling back out of the lamp and retaking his normal shape. “To be my own master…such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world!”

Toby then shakes his head quite violently before saying, “But what am I talking about? Let’s get real here, it ain’t happening.”

“Why not?” Douxie asks.

“The only way I get outta this is if my master wishes me free,” Toby says. “I’m sure you can guess how often that’s happened.”

“I’ll do it,” Douxie says. He’ll have to be even more economical with his first two wishes, but he’s a master at making mountains out of molehills. He’ll be fine. “I’ll set you free.”

“Pfft, yeah, right,” Toby says.

“No, really,” Douxie says. “I promise. I’ll use my third wish to set you free. Sound fair?”

He extends a hand to the genie, who still looks at him suspiciously, skeptical and untrusting. But he takes Douxie’s hand, giving it a good shake. “Alright. Here’s to hoping.”

Then, he instantly brightens up. “Now!” Toby says. “Let’s make some magic! So, how ‘bout it? What is it you want most?”

“Well,” Douxie says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, there’s this boy—”

“Wrong!” Toby says. “Rule number two! No love spells.”

If he’s recalling the look on Krel’s face correctly, Douxie doesn’t think he needs a spell for the prince to fall in love with him.

“I know, I know,” Douxie says. “He’s just so smart and fun and…”

“Handsome?” Toby says, giving Douxie a cheeky wink and a nudge.

“Beautiful!” Douxie says. “And I’m pretty sure he likes me back! But he’s the prince, so to even have a chance, I’d need to be royalty myself.”

It hits him like a ton of bricks. How did he not think of this sooner?

“Toby, can you make me a prince?” he asks.

The genie pulls a hefty tome out of nowhere, full of ‘Royal Recipes’ according to the cover, and flips through.

“Let’s see, chicken à la king?” He pulls a literal chicken with a crown out of the book before tossing it aside. “Nope.”

“Alaskan king crab?” he continues after more flipping. This time, he yelps, a crab’s claw clamped on one of his fingers. He waves his hand around to dislodge it, sending it flying. “Bigger nope!”

“Caeser salad?” An arm reaches out of the book, wielding a knife, and Toby scrambles to push it back in and turn the page. “Et tu, Brute? No.”

Another few flicks, and he finally stops with a smile. “Here it is! To Make a Prince. And this book here came from an old genie friend of mine who is one hell of a chef, doesn’t even need magic to make it taste like magic, so you know the stuff in here is the good stuff! You’re gonna be one hell of a prince.”

He snaps the book closed, and it poofs out of existence. “So, is this an official wish? Say the magic words.”

“Ok,” Douxie says, taking a deep breath and putting his game face on. “Toby, I wish for you to make me a prince!”

“Alright!” Toby cheers. And then, in a flash, he’s suddenly measuring different parts of Douxie’s body. “Let’s start with the look. That fez-and-vest combo is much too third-century! Not to mention the patches, it all just screams ‘beggar’. Hm…let’s try this on for size!”

He pulls the measure away with a flourish, and in its wake, his clothes transform. Toby also conjures up a mirror, allowing Douxie to see himself fully.

He’s suddenly decked out in a beautiful sherwani, its base a deep indigo, decorated with swirls of Tyrian purple and gold at the neck and shoulders and then the ends of the sleeves and the bottom of the garment (making the price of this piece of clothing alone positively dizzying), and a wide piece of golden fabric belts it. A cape is draped over one shoulder, white satin embroidered with gold, matching the white satin pants and gold shoes. To top it off is the white turban on his head, at the front of which a large peacock feather is fastened. It’s a blend of cultural aspects from both Akiridion and the northern countries, which he supposes is apropos since his father came from a far northern kingdom—he just wishes he knew which one.

“Oh yes, indigo is definitely your color,” Toby says, snapping away the mirror. “But it still needs something…what does it say to me…oh! It says mode of transportation!”

Toby looks around until his eyes lock on Archie, who’s lounging on a rock in the sun a few feet away. “Here, kitty-kitty!”

Archie opens one eye to glare at the genie.

Despite his obvious displeasure, though, there’s nothing the cat can do to keep the genie from magically pulling him over.

“Hmm…we need something impressive,” Toby muses. He snaps his hands several times, transforming Archie into several different creatures in the span of a few seconds, each one just not doing it for Toby.

Until he lights up—literally.

“Oh! I know something perfect!” he says.

With one last snap, Archie transforms into a massive beast. A good chunk of his fur turns into black scales leaving tufts on his cheeks and a thick line down his spine, and a pair of giant wings sprout from his back along with huge fangs in his mouth.

“What screams rich and royal more than an exotic, magical dragon!” Toby says, very proud of himself.

“Wow, Arch,” Douxie says, approaching his former-cat-now-dragon companion. “You look good!”

Archie just blinks at him, dazed from all the shapeshifting.

“Will a dragon make people question things? You know, since they’re supposed to be a myth?” Douxie asks.

“So are genies, and yet here we are,” Toby shoots back, and Douxie can’t argue with that one. Well, he supposes there is still a chance that the genie is a figment of his imagination, conjured up either by severe head trauma, or going insane in the cave, or going insane in prison, or a combination thereof. But he’s something like 95% sure this isn’t any of that. “It’s all about confidence! You gotta sell it. The more you believe in what you’re saying, the more the people around you will too.

“Now, he’s got the outfit, he’s got the dragon, but we’re not through yet! Hang onto your turban, Doux; I am gonna make you a star.”

///

“Sire! I believe I have found a solution to the problem with your son!”

Fialkov is jolted from his thoughts by Morando’s entrance, the man barging into his study with a thick scroll clutched in hand.

“You have?” Fialkov says. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he also desperately wants this to be true.

“The magician’s words guided me, and I found in an old scroll an edict from long ago that was never lifted, so it is still in effect,” Morando says. He unrolls the scroll, and several feet of parchment unfurl across the floor. Morando then clears his throat and reads, “If the heir to the throne has not chosen a spouse by the appointed time, then the Sultan must make the choice.”

Fialkov deflates, rubbing his temples. “You and I both know Krel would despise that. He has hated every suitor, and I am not keen on the idea of forcing him into a marriage with someone he hates.”

“Not to worry, My Liege, there is more,” Morando says. He continues, “In the event a fitting suitor cannot be found, the heir must then wed the highest-ranking advisor of the appropriate sex. I am aware of Prince Krel’s…taste…so, going by the word of this decree, he would marry…oh…oh my…”

It hits Fialkov.

“You are my highest-ranking advisor,” he says.

“I am aware, sire,” Morando says.

“A prince must marry royalty, of that I am certain,” Fialkov says.

“This edict makes an explicit exception to that rule. There just hasn’t been a need for it in generations, and without need, it was forgotten,” Morando says.

Fialkov does not like this—and he’s certain Krel would not either.

“I am sorry, Morando, I appreciate your aid, but—”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Morando says, thrusting his staff forward, once more enthralling the Sultan.

“Yes. Desperate Measures,” Sultan Fialkov says. But Morando can see the hypnosis isn’t sticking, the yellow dim and the haze struggling to take over.

“The prince will marry me,” Morando says more forcefully.

“The prince will marry you,” Sultan Fialkov repeats, though the words come out strangled.

But before Morando can try again to strengthen the hypnosis, there is the sound of heralding trumpets outside.

These catch the Sultan’s attention, and with how weak the hypnosis is, it’s easily broken by that shift in focus. Thankfully though, the hypnosis also has an amnesic effect—those he hypnotizes won’t remember being hypnotized, the closest they can get is fuzzy memories around the hypnosis.

“What in the world?” Fialkov says, shaking his head clear. He’ll have to look into alternate solutions later, but first, he must find out what in the world those trumpets are.

Fialkov, and Morando on his heels, quickly go out onto the nearest balcony, and Fialkov can hardly believe his eyes.

Through the streets march lines upon lines of men bearing instruments marching in time to the drummers who ride on camels. In unison, they declare, “Make way for Prince Dahi!”

Behind them are more lines, swordsmen twirling their weapons with great skill, handmaidens bearing bowls of jewels and gold. “Say hey, it’s Prince Dahi!”

And down in the front, they are led by a fire-twirling genie disguised as the Major, ready to put on one hell of a show! Today, he unveils a masterpiece!

“Hey, clear the way in the old bazaar, hey, you, let us through, it’s a bright new star, oh come, be the first on your block to meet his eye!”

Toby dances through the back streets near the main road, catching the attention of as many people as possible and drawing them to the sides of the street. The crowd very quickly grows as more and more people come to check out all the commotion.

But they haven’t seen nothing yet!

“Make way, here he comes, ring bells, bang the drums. You’re gonna love this guy!”

Cue the grand entrance!

“Prince Dahi, fabulous he, Dahi Ababwa!” A great clump of servants disperses, revealing ‘Prince Dahi’ situated atop a stunning beast, an immense black dragon. The crowd gasps, oohs and ahhs, and ‘Prince Dahi’ waves to them all, smiling his handsomest smile that Toby had him practice extensively on their way here until it was perfect.

“Genuflect, show some respect, down on one knee.”

He pops behind a group of guards and yanks the entrance mat out from under them, forcing them all to kneel.

“Now, try your best to stay calm. Brush up your Sunday Salaam. Then come and meet his spectacular coterie!”

He then launches a few men into the air, his magic touch ensuring their trajectory is perfect for his next trick.

“Prince Dahi, mighty is he, Dahi Ababwa!”

‘Prince Dahi’ hears the shouts of the men and looks up to find them coming right at him. What the hell is Toby doing!?

“Strong as ten regular men, definitely!”

‘Prince Dahi’ seems to get the message, holding his arms out, and with the snap of Toby’s fingers, he’s able to catch and hold each and every one of the fully grown adults, easily somewhere between 800-1000 pounds. They are then placed back on the ground with another little nudge of magic.

Toby pops into a different section of the crowd in the form of an old man. “He faced the galloping hordes!”

He pops into a different spot as a little boy. “A hundred bad guys with swords!”

He does it one more time, this time taking the visage of a large man, pulling in two other men as he sings and magically influencing them to sing with him. “Who sent those goons to their lords? Why, Prince Dahi!”

Now, they’ve seen the prince, they’ve heard some claims about his deeds, so it’s time to flex his absurd wealth.

With another snap of his fingers, that coterie he mentioned announces and shows off the abundant, amazing things ‘Prince Dahi’ owns.

“He’s got seventy-five golden camels!”

“Purple peacocks, he’s got fifty-three!”

“When it comes to exotic-type mammals—” he pops back into another part of the ever-growing crowd, this time as a goat that can sing because why the heck not, this is about drama and flair, not realism “—has he got a zoo, I’m telling you!”

“It’s a world-class menagerie!”

Tony’s eye catches on some lovely ladies watching from their balcony.

Now there’s an idea!

“Prince Dahi, handsome is he, Dahi Ababwa!” He belts, bursting through the doors of the brothel behind the young women in the shape of one himself—and he looks damn good, thank you very much.

“There’s no question this Dahi’s alluring,” the three in front of him twitter.

“That physique, how can I speak!” He snaps ‘Prince Dahi’ into a flexing pose to better show off his svelte good looks.

“Never ordinary, never boring!” the girls continue.

“Weak at the knee!”

“Everything about the man just plain impresses!”

“Well, get on out in that square!”

“He’s a wonder, he’s a wiz, a wonder!”

“Adjust your veil and prepare!”

“He’s about to pull my heart asunder!”

“To gawk and grovel and stare at Prince Dahi!”

“And I absolutely love the way he dresses!”

From a very different balcony, Krel watches the display. He won’t say he’s not a little excited; this is a prince, after all. But at the same time, everything about this guy screams ‘pompous and egotistical’ just like every princess before him. He scoffs when he sees the women at what he thinks is the brothel practically faint, draping themselves over the railing.

Finally, the procession reaches the gate of the palace’s outer wall. They fly open before them, welcoming the vast entourage, who all continue to wax poetic about their beloved prince. “He’s got ninety-five white Persian monkeys, and to view them, he charges no fee!”

Douxie throws out an abundance of gold coins for the onlookers, showering them with the most wealth he’s ever actually held in his hands. He can’t help but smile, a quite honest one, at all the faces of the crowd as they scramble for the plentiful coins, all of them grinning and looking at him with awe and joy.

“He’s got vassals and servants and flunkies!”

Sultan Fialkov is finally jolted out of his state of astonishment as he realizes the prince is swiftly approaching the palace doors. He rushes back into the building and down the nearest stairs to meet him. It would be a poor showing if he weren’t there to greet the prince.

“We bow to his whim, love serving him! We’re just lousy with loyalty to Dahi!”

Morando has to scramble after the Sultan—he cannot allow that prince into this palace under any circumstances! Not when he’s so close!

“Prince Dahi!”

The two come out by the throne in the grand entrance hall just in time for the palace guards to heave open the opulent double doors for the one, the only—

“Prince Dahi! Amorous he! Dahi Ababwa!” Toby races forward to fall onto his knees, sliding right up to the shell-shocked Sultan. “Heard that Prince Krel was a sight lovely to see!”

He springs back onto his feet to bow low before taking the Sultan’s shoulder and putting him on his throne. “And that, good people, is why he got dolled up and dropped by!”

The entourage comes back in to tell of all the fantastic things they bear. “With sixty elephants, llamas galore, with his bears and lions, a brass band, and more, with his forty fakirs, his cooks, his bakers, his birds that warble on key!”

With just the grand finale left, Toby figures now is the time to amscray back to the lamp. He shoots off with a flash, darting beneath ‘Prince Dahi’s’ large turban, where the lamp is currently stored. Douxie has to grab the turban and pull it back onto his head, the force of Toby’s return nearly making it fly off his head.

“Make way for Prince Dahi!”

With a deep breath and the signal from Carpet, he leaps off of Archie, lands on Carpet, and flies to the throne as his entourage parts and bows to him.

At the last moment, Douxie jumps off Carpet and rolls to stand, the motion carrying him into a final bow just at the foot of the throne. “Your Majesty.”

Behind him, he can hear the commotion of the royal guards and numerous servants trying to get all of his own guards, servants, etcetera, rounded up and taken care of.

“That was certainly an impressive show,” Sultan Fialkov says. “Prince Dahi, was it?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Douxie says, straightening up. “I have journeyed from afar to seek your son’s hand.”

“You will have to excuse me, but if I might ask, what was the name of your kingdom again?” Sultan Fialkov asks.

Shit, he’s onto me, isn’t he? Ok, ok, just play it cool, it’ll be fine.

“Why, the Kingdom of Ababwa,” Douxie says.

Something curious happens—there’s a blink-and-you-miss-it flash of orange light in the Sultan’s irises, and then he smiles. “Ah! Ababwa, of course! Apologies. Welcome, Prince Dahi. I am delighted to meet you.”

Well, he’s definitely going to need to ask Toby about this.

“And allow me to introduce my royal vizir as well, Morando,” Sultan Fialkov says, gesturing to the very tall man glowering at him who stands beside the throne.

“I am sure he, too, is delighted to meet the prince of such an esteemed kingdom.” This is said rather forcefully, the Sultan shooting his vizir a look.

“Ecstatic,” Morando says, deadpan. Then he lifts his chin to stare down at Douxie haughtily as he walks up to him. “Unfortunately, Prince Abubu—”

“Morando,” the Sultan says.

“Ababwa,” Morando corrects himself with a huff and an eye roll, “no matter how esteemed your kingdom, you cannot just parade in here uninvited and expect to—”

“He is hardly uninvited,” Sultan Fialkov says, standing. “I remember now. I sent an invitation to Ababwa after Prince Krel rejected the first several suitors. I was hoping, since it had been so long since our last contact with them, perhaps there had been a suitable match born into the family. It must have just slipped my mind, what with all the other invitations I sent.”

“And the prince came?” Morando says. “How could they possibly have known to send the prince?”

Another flash of orange, this time in both men’s eyes.

“I was getting desperate, admittedly, and did mention Krel was looking for a less traditional suitor,” Sultan Fialkov says. “I am simply glad you were able to read between the lines, Prince Dahi, and were so willing to come all this way.”

“More than willing,” Douxie says with his most charming smile. “It is my honor to be here.”

Fialkov then steps in close to Morando to whisper, “I don’t think we’ll need that edict now.”

Morando grabs his shoulder so they’re facing away from this Prince Dahi. “I don’t trust him, sire.”

There’s something weird about this. Morando can’t place it, but something isn’t right. He knows about the Kingdom of Ababwa, but at the same time, it feels as if he’s never heard the word ‘Ababwa’ before in his life. And he swears he’s seen this face somewhere, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“You are hardly in the position to be making judgment calls, Morando,” Sultan Fialkov says, making Morando grit his teeth. Of course Prince Goody-Two-Shoes just had to go and tattle on him to daddy.

Fialkov turns back to Prince Dahi.

“When shall I get to meet him?” Douxie asks. “I am greatly looking forward to it. I hope I can make a better impression than the other suitors.”

“Well, you’re a prince, so that already adds points in your favor,” Sultan Fialkov says. “I am certain Krel will like you better than any of the previous suitors.”

“Your Highness, no, I must intercede on Prince Krel’s behalf,” Morando says, stepping between Douxie and the Sultan. “His being a prince does not just make him automatically better than the others.”

What the hell is this guy’s problem?

“What makes him think he is worthy of the prince?” Morando continues.

“What makes you think I’m not?” Douxie shoots back. “At least let me meet him! I think I just might impress him more than you know.”

“Morando, that is quite enough!” Sultan Fialkov says. “A prince is serving himself up on a silver platter. And one that’s handsome, wealthy, and charismatic—I’m sure he’ll win over Krel in no time, which means I won’t have to try to find any more!”

“Ugh!”

All three turn to see Prince Krel standing at the entrance to an adjacent hallway.

“I am not just some prize!” Prince Krel says, crossing his arms. “And you, Papa, told me you would at least try!”

“There’s a prince here! That’s what you wanted!” Sultan Fialkov says. “And he’s from Ababwa, only one of the most respected kingdoms in the east!”

“You didn’t try! He just showed up!” Prince Krel says. “And I couldn’t care less whether or not he’s from an affluent state. I want someone I like and who genuinely likes me as a person.”

“Krel—”

“Don’t.” With that, the prince storms back out of the room. Douxie can only watch sadly, wanting to reach out, to go after him, but knowing that’s probably not the best idea right now.

The Sultan sighs deeply, “Don’t worry, Prince Dahi. Once he’s cooled down, I’m sure things will be fine.”

This man really does not know his son, huh?

Krel’s going to stew—even Douxie knows this after only one day together.

“How about I show you to the guest wing?” King Fialkov says.

Morando watches, inwardly seething, as the Sultan leads the prince out of the room.

It appears drastic measures are needed. He must ensure Prince Abubu is out of the picture. Permanently.

///

Douxie finds himself gazing forlornly up at the prince’s balcony that evening from the gardens. He’s refused to come out of his room or talk to anyone who’s not one of his personal servants, and even then, he only talks to them as much as needed.

As he internally laments, Archie has his face stuck in a barrel of salmon procured for them by order of the Sultan, and Toby and Carpet play a game of chess on a floating board.

“Your move,” Toby says after very proudly moving his queen, sure he’s got Carpet on the ropes.

Carpet proceeds to send Toby’s queen flying as it captures that space with its own queen.

Toby stares down at the board, first shocked and then increasingly distressed as he realizes he’s just about pinned. He looks back at Carpet, who somehow looks smug despite its lack of a face. “That was a good move.”

He sits back with a groan. “I’m losing to a rug!”

“Toby?” Douxie says, finally looking at something other than the balcony. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Toby says, glad to have a reason not to watch his humiliating defeat at the hands of the sentient Persian wool. “He’s mad because his father isn’t listening to him, right?”

“As far as I can tell,” Douxie says. “What I don’t get is why he’s also mad at me. What have I done?”

“He’s been burned before—the other suitors were all crap. What reason does he have to believe you’re any different?” Toby points out. “Especially since the only thing he really heard from you was how you thought you’d impress him right after you paraded through the streets—sounds pretty pompous without the context of that entire conversation and with the context of the other people his father has invited thus far.”

“Ugh, what am I gonna do?” Douxie groans. “He won’t listen to a word I say as long as he thinks that!”

“Well, this is not my normal go-to when it comes to romance, but I think it might be your best shot here—tell him the truth!” Toby says.

“The truth?” Douxie says. “No way! If he knew I’m that street rat and not a prince, there’s no way he’d give me the time of day!”

“First, you are a prince now,” Toby says. “ ‘Make me a prince’ doesn’t just mean the clothes and the money. It’s the whole shebang.”

“Excuse me?” Douxie says.

“You didn’t wish for me to make you look like a prince; you wished for me to make you a prince. So congratulations, Prince Dahi, you’re the heir to the now real kingdom of Ababwa,” Toby says. “But don’t worry too much about that. If you need to know something, I can pop it into your head, easy.”

“Is that what you were doing to the Sultan earlier?” Douxie asks.

“He can be taught!” Toby says once again. “Now, second, and it’s the kicker, Doux—I distinctly remember the prince saying affluence wasn’t important to him earlier.”

…That’s true…

“And you said you two really hit it off before the guards showed up, right?” Toby says.

I mean, I certainly thought so.

“So, add those two things together, and methinks you just might wanna rely on the au naturel charm and tell him who you are!” Toby says. “If he knows you’re the boy who helped him at the market, bing, bang, boom, you’re in! Now, go and get your man!”

Toby shoves him toward the balcony, and Carpet catches Douxie before he can trip over his own cape from the force of the shove. Carpet then takes off, carrying him toward the balcony as he recomposes himself. He doesn’t know if the prince will believe it if he claims to be the boy from the market, so he’ll just be himself first and test the waters.

He lightly jumps onto the banister once they reach it and takes one last deep breath.

He can do this!

He calls out, “Prince Krel? Are you there?”

Inside the room, Krel is startled out of his sulking at the sound of a voice coming from his balcony. He glances at Luug, who looks just as confused as he is.

“Who’s there?” he asks, standing slowly. Luug growls lowly, sticking to Krel’s side.

“It’s me, Prince Dahi,” the voice says.

Prince Dahi? How the kleb did he get up here?

Ugh, it doesn’t matter. Krel marches over to his thin curtains and thrusts one aside. “I do not want to see you. I don’t know how you got up here, but you can use whatever method it was to get right back down.”

“No, no, please, Prince, just give me a chance!” Douxie says. He moves closer but is quickly forced back by the prince’s large, angry tiger.

“Just leave me alone,” Krel says, turning his back to him. Trust the one prince who showed up to be a total blockhead.

But then suddenly, Luug’s growls are replaced by purrs.

Krel looks back over to find Luug snuggled up to the prince’s side as the prince scratches behind his ears.

“There we go, good kitty,” Douxie says, moving to scratch under the large cat’s jaw and earning a happy chuff—because what is a tiger but a large cat? And Douxie knows how to handle cats.

“Luug…likes you,” the prince says, the observation sounding a little more like a confused question.

“Well, I like him too,” Douxie says. He then, and only because Luug does seem to really like him, smooshes the tiger’s cheeks. “He’s very handsome. Yes, you are, you’re a very handsome tiger.”

“Well…I suppose if Luug likes you, you can’t be completely awful,” Krel says.

Alright, that’s a boot in the door. Now he’s just gotta wedge it a little wider. So, Douxie gives Luug one last chin scratch, straightens up, and flashes Krel a smile. “Though Luug’s owner might just give him a run for his money. He’s quite handsome as well.”

Prince Krel arches an eyebrow. A gleam of wicked intelligence flashes through his dark eyes, and Douxie could swear that look alone has made him fall in love even more.

“I’m rich, too, you know,” Krel says, sauntering forward with this half-smile that makes Douxie melt.

“I noticed.”

“Son of the Sultan,” he continues, getting closer.

“Mhmm.”

“A fine prize for any royalty to marry,” he continues, now very, very close.

“A fine prince who anyone would be lucky to get to marry,” Douxie says. He bets the prince didn’t think he’d catch that.

Now both of the prince’s eyebrows are raised in surprise as he steps back. “Oh.”

But then he crosses his arms. “Hmph. You probably just remember what I said earlier.”

“I mean, I do, yes, but am I not allowed to also genuinely respect you as a person?” Douxie asks.

Krel scoffs, once more turning away. “Please, I am not so stupid as to fall for that. Just…go jump off the balcony.” Of course, by turning away, he makes sure Prince Dahi can’t see that his resolve is weakening. But he can’t let himself believe pretty words with nothing to back them up. No matter how much he might want to.

Douxie deflates.

“Alright,” he says. “But I do mean it.”

Krel turns back, afraid to be hopeful, but he is anyway.

“You’re a handsome prince, yeah, but you’re also smart and fun,”

The way Prince Dahi says it—well, it sounds like he just might actually mean what he’s saying. Which makes no sense—they only just met, so he knows nothing about Krel yet.

“And I wanted to get to know you better and prove myself to you,” the prince continues, and then he steps up onto the banister. “But if you want nothing to do with me, that’s fine. I’ll leave you be.”

He steps off.

“No!” Krel yells, reaching out toward Prince Dahi even though there’s no way he can stop what’s already happening. He can only watch in horror as the prince disappears over the side of the balcony.

But just as quickly, Prince Dahi pops back up, looking around wildly. “What!? What is it?”

Krel can only stare at him in sheer confusion for a second.

Is he—is he levitating???

But after that moment, he manages to find his voice again. “How are you doing that?”

He walks over and can only watch in wonder as Prince Dahi swoops around so he’s over the balcony on—

“A magic carpet,” Douxie says. Carpet waves at the prince.

“Amazing…” the prince says as he slowly circles Douxie and Carpet, analyzing it from every angle.

“You, uh…you don’t wanna go for a ride, do you?” Douxie asks when Krel completes his circuit. “We could get out of the palace. Go anywhere you like. Anywhere in the world.”

Oh, how dearly Krel’s heart longs for exactly that. But first, he has to ask, “Is it safe?”

“Sure, do you trust me?”

Krel’s eyes snap to Prince Dahi’s face. That voice, those words… “What?”

“Do you trust me?” Prince Dahi says again, leaning out to offer Krel a hand, and suddenly Krel’s not on his balcony with Prince Dahi, but deep in the city with a street rat he’d thought was gone.

But that face, that smile…

“Yes,” Krel says, trying not to choke up as he takes the “prince’s” hand.

Douxie gently pulls Krel up onto Carpet, and then, they’re off, spiraling over Akiridion. Krel latches onto his shoulders with a gasp, and Douxie glances back to see his eyes full of wonder.

“I can show you the world. Shining, shimmering, splendid.” They skim the skyline before diving into the streets of the city, through architecture older than most memory, past some of his favorite places in the city, small pockets of wonder hidden between sandstone walls. The two of them are pressed close together as they sail through the air, and Douxie can catch a whiff of floral perfume with just a hint of spice from the prince.

“Tell me, my prince, now when did you last let your heart decide?” As they swoop and swirl, Douxie spots a house with flowers hanging outside the window. He picks one as they drift past and offers it to a wide-eyed Krel, who takes it with a blush and a shy smile.

“I can open your eyes. Take you wonder by wonder, over, sideways, and under on a magic carpet ride!” Carpet weaves through arches and around towers, skirting buildings in graceful curves, a last skim through the world below them before it ferries them up into the atmosphere, beyond walls and rules and expectations, Akiridion growing ever smaller far behind and below them.

“A whole new world! A new fantastic point of view.” They ascend through a tunnel of clouds and emerge into an entirely new place hidden within them, where it feels like nothing beyond the here and now, nothing beyond them matters, or even exists. “No one to tell us no, or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming.”

“A whole new world! A dazzling place I never knew!” Krel never could have imagined this—none of his dreams could hope to live up to the splendor of reality. Or to the man sitting next to him. “But when we’re way up here, it’s crystal clear that now I’m in a whole new world with you.”

Carpet takes them around in a spiral, whipping the clouds into a swirl, their own world to do with what they wish, and no one else could ever hope to stop them. “Now I’m in a whole new world with you!”

Douxie never knew his heart could feel so full and yet so light at the same time. He feels like he could fly even without Carpet, like he could touch the stars themselves.

Then Carpet takes them back downward into the lower clouds, and to Krel’s delight, he realizes that they’re now level with a flock of beautiful white birds. He throws open his arms and feels a hand on the small of his back to help keep him stable. Douxie can only watch breathlessly as Krel opens himself to the world, reveling in the wind ruffling his hair. “Unbelievable sights! Indescribable feeling!”

Carpet then takes them right back up, even pulling a loop that leaves them airborne for a second, Krel gasping in a mixture of excitement and terror and clutching Dahi’s arm. It catches them easily, and then they pierce into the infinite heavens. The stars are sharper up here, glitter spread across vast blackness, and the moon is bigger and brighter than he’s ever seen before. His heart is thundering in his chest, exhilaration and awe flooding his veins. “Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling through an endless diamond sky. A whole new world!”

And then they start to plummet at a steep angle, shooting out from the clouds and down toward a river below gleaming in the moonlight. He goes to cover his eyes, a spike of fear striking through him, but then Dahi has wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gently pulls his wrists away just in time for him to see them swoop at the last moment to skim along the sparkling water. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“A hundred thousand things to see.” They weave through the boats on the river, each carrying a warm light and people dressed in outfits he’s never seen before. Krel wonders how they construct their boats and why they look different from the boats Akiridion uses, his brain whirring with the possibilities.

“Hold your breath, it gets better!” Douxie wonders how far they can travel, how much they can see in a night, how much he can show Krel and share with him—the fact that they soar past immense, magnificent pyramids tells him they must be very, very far away already, as he’s not seen anything quite like them before, not even heard stories.

(What do you know, turns out magic carpet is the most efficient way to travel.)

“I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far, I cannot go back to where I used to be!” Never. Krel never wants to go back to what his life was like before. He can’t go back to just sitting within those walls. He won’t.

“A whole new world!” 

Below them, across the sands, Krel spots a herd of horses galloping through the night, the wind tangling in their manes, wild and free. “Every turn a surprise!”

“With new horizons to pursue.”

“Every moment, red letter!” Carpet flies close by for a better look, so close Krel could reach out and touch one if he didn’t know that you shouldn’t do that with wildlife, and then flies back upward.

“I’ll chase them anywhere, there’s time to spare, let me share this whole new world with you.” Another spiral through the clouds, and they emerge somewhere entirely different, a green place with buildings and statues carved from beautiful white marble. The two find themselves gazing not at the scenery, though, but rather at each other. Douxie thinks he’s never seen Krel so happy, and oh, how beautiful he looks like this. Krel thinks about how he could have possibly gotten this lucky to find someone who could take him to all these places, who wants to do that and wants to share it all, how he’s found the boy he thought he’d lost.

As they pass through an orchard, Douxie picks an apple from one of the trees. He then does his little trick where he rolls it down his arm and then hits it over to Krel with his elbow. “A whole new world.”

Krel catches the apple, and in that moment, he knows with 100% certainty. “A whole new world.”

Carpet dives down to fly over a lake, hovering just above its surface. “That’s where we’ll be.”

Krel lays on his front to reach down, trailing his fingers through the cool, crystal water. “That’s where we’ll be.”

“A thrilling chase—” Douxie leans over to try and watch Krel and finds just how perfect the reflection is, the lake a pristine mirror.

“A wondrous place—” Krel’s reflection joins Dahi’s, their eyes connecting in the water.

Krel presses into Dahi’s side and lays his head on his shoulder, and Douxie lays his head atop Krel’s as their fingers lace together.

“For you and me.”

///

“It’s all so incredible,” Krel says. Their nighttime flight has taken them through so many marvelous places, and now they’ve finally settled atop a building so incredibly far from his home, he can hardly fathom it. Above them, bright, colorful sparks explode in the night sky, fireworks as he’s heard them called, and they’re so beautiful—he should figure out how to make some so they can have them at home.

“Yeah,” Douxie says, half-listening, half-gazing adoringly at Prince Krel.

Krel looks over at Prince Dahi, twisting the apple stem in his hand. He then grins and says, “It is a shame Archie had to miss this.”

“Nah, he’s not a fan of loud stuff like this,” Douxie says.

He looks back at the prince and sees him smiling smugly, and he realizes what he just said.

Dammit. He’d wanted more time to plan out what he was going to say.

“You are the boy from the market, I knew it!” Krel says, snatching the turban off his head. Within the joy, a spark of anger flares. He had mourned him, and now here he is, and he didn’t say a thing! “I thought you were dead! Why did you lie to me?”

“Ok, in my defense, I never technically lied to you,” Douxie says.

Krel raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t!” Douxie says. “You never asked, so how could I have lied to you?”

The other brow goes up.

“I feel like I should stop talking,” Douxie says.

“No, keep going, smartass, see where it gets you,” Krel says.

“Ok, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Douxie says.

“Did you think I was stupid? That I wouldn’t figure it out?” Krel asks, shoving the turban back into Douxie’s hands and also just shoving Douxie.

“No! I mean, I honestly wasn’t sure if you’d believe me!” Douxie says, pushing himself back up.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Krel asks. “Who else would know about that besides you? Not even the guards know the whole story.”

“…Well, I suppose that was just me not thinking things through entirely,” Douxie says sheepishly.

“Who are you?” Krel asks. “Tell me the truth.”

Whelp. Here goes nothing.

“Er…well, do you believe in magic?” Douxie asks.

“We rode here on a magic carpet, so you tell me,” Krel says.

“Right,” Douxie says. He is really not making a great impression here, is he? “Well…would you believe me if I said this other prisoner helped me escape after I was arrested, he led me to an ancient sentient magical cave in the desert where I found a magical lamp, I got trapped in the cave, I rubbed the lamp, there was a genie in the lamp, and after getting out of the cave, I wished for the genie to make me a prince so I could come find you again?”

Krel just stares at him with raised brows for several infinite seconds. He can vaguely hear Carpet clapping happily with its tassels, but that hardly registers.

Finally, though, just as Douxie thought he might keel over from his mounting anxiety, Krel finally sighs deeply, sets his apple aside, clasps his hands together against his forehead, and says, sounding utterly exasperated, “I’m going to need you to take that from the top again, slower.”

“Maybe that can be our ‘on-the-way-back’ activity?” Douxie says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s quite the story.”

“Fine,” Krel says, now looking Douxie in the eyes. “But you are answering a couple of questions now.”

“Of course!” Douxie says.

“You mentioned a genie and a wish—so you aren’t actually a prince? You are a peasant boy?” Krel asks.

“Technically, both are true,” Douxie says. “I am the boy from the market. I am also a prince now—apparently, how I phrased my wish made me into actual royalty, and there’s now an actual kingdom somewhere called Ababwa, of which I’m the prince.”

“Is your real name ‘Dahi’?” Krel asks.

“Nope, Toby—uh, he’s the genie—told me that ‘Dahi’ sounded better for a royal,” Douxie says. “I’m half convinced he just wanted a name that’s easier to rhyme than Hisirdoux.”

“So that is your real name, then?” Krel asks.

“Yep, Hisirdoux,” Douxie says. “I know, it’s a mouthful. I tend to just go by Douxie.”

“And…and you wished to be a prince so you could come find me again? Not because of the status or wealth that comes with being a prince? Or with being with me?” Krel asks, this last question much quieter.

“I couldn’t care less about status or wealth—well, I do appreciate having the wealth, I can’t deny that I like not being starving,” Douxie says. He then takes Krel’s hands into his own. “But my singular motivation for this wish was so I could have even a semblance of a chance at seeing you again.”

Krel finds himself rendered utterly speechless. He doesn’t entirely understand everything, but he understands the important parts—the boy from the market, Douxie, survived, and he somehow managed to find a way to come back to Krel. Come back for Krel.

Yeah. This is what he was waiting for, hoping for.

And if Krel proceeds to kiss Douxie silly, well, the only witness is Carpet—who resolutely looks away.

///

When they finally return to the Akiridion palace, Douxie bids Krel a good night with one last soft kiss. He watches as Krel retreats to his room, throwing back one last look and wave, and once the curtains swing closed behind him, Douxie allows himself to fall back, Carpet allowing him to float down to the ground like a feather, just as light as he feels.

“For the first time in my life, things are starting to go right.”

At least until several pairs of hands grab him. He struggles and thrashes, but there are simply too many of them. He shoved to the ground, quickly gagged and cuffed.

As he struggles still, he looks over to see Archie with his dragon snout tied shout by thick rope and pinned to the ground by a net, large spikes driven through the stone to hold the netting, some spikes even driven through his wings to hold them down, from which blood slowly trickles. But it looks like he didn’t go down without a fight—Douxie can see just beyond him is a small pile of bodies, some covered in blood, another couple of them scorched black, and the guards standing around him all sporting burns of various degrees.

And when Carpet tries to help him, another guard stabs through it with his sword first, allowing him to get a grip on the rug before firmly knotting it around a tree trunk.

The clang of metal on stone gets his attention, and Douxie follows the golden staff up to the face of the vizir.

“I’m afraid you’ve worn out your welcome, Prince Abubu,” Morando says, giving the boy his best wolfish smile.

Douxie yells out every profanity he knows toward the vizir even though he’s muffled, but they do nothing, they don’t even seem to get under the vizir’s skin—the man just walks away with one last order for the guards. “Make sure he’s never found.”

Douxie’s struggle is cut off by an explosion of stars from the base of his skull.

///

When he comes to, it’s just in time to see he’s at the edge of a cliff before he’s tossed over, falling like a stone into the water, weighed down by the ball and chain around his ankle.

He has to get out of here, he has to get back to the palace!

He looks around for something, anything, that could help him, and spots where his turban and the lamp stashed inside have landed. If he can get over to it, he can get Toby, and Toby can fix this!

He lunges and thrashes with all of his might, trying desperately to drag the ball and chain through the sand, but it must be caught on something or is stuck in the sand in a weird way—he makes barely inches of progress before his last bit of breath escapes him, and only a couple more before he blacks out completely.

The dead weight of Douxie’s body, though, is the last bit needed for the sand to give, sending the ball sliding down and taking Douxie with it.

The disturbance of his body hitting the sand causes the turban and lamp to slide as well—and the lamp lands in just the right spot for his hands to rub against it as his body buoys up slightly.

Toby bursts from the lamp in a swirl of orange and a burst of jasmine-scented bubbles. “It never fails; you get in the bath, and there’s a rub of the lamp!”

He looks around and gasps as he spots Douxie’s unconscious form.

“Doux! Man, you gotta wake up!” he yells as loud as he can, but Doux is too far gone to hear him. “Oh, come on, Doux, you can’t cheat on this one! I can’t help unless you make a wish! You have to say, ‘Toby, I wish for you to save my life.’ Got it?”

He shakes Douxie by the shoulders in an attempt to wake him up, “Come on, Douxie!” but all that happens is his head lolls forward.

But it looks close enough to a nod that Toby can squeeze through a loophole. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Toby grabs the boy and catapults them out of the water. They land on the ledge where but minutes ago the guards stood—but now they’re nowhere in sight.

Douxie is still for a moment, and Toby just about fears the worst, but then, his entire body convulses as he starts to hack and throw up water. Toby helps him roll over so he doesn’t choke any more, with a great sigh of relief.

When Douxie has finally, seemingly, gotten all the water out, he looks weakly up at Toby, and Toby once more sets his hands on his shoulders, though this time without the shaking. “Don’t you scare me like that!”

“Toby…thank you,” Douxie says, the words hoarse as he speaks through heavy breaths.

“Come on, Doux,” Toby says, picking him. “Let’s get you home.” After all, he can count ‘getting home’ as part of the ‘save my life’ wish.

///

Sitting at his vanity, Krel can’t help but hum under his breath as he brushes through his unruly hair, the night playing on repeat in his head. It was just all so wonderful—and it was the market boy, no less!

There’s just one thing he can’t figure out, though.

If Douxie escaped from the dungeons…then why did Morando tell him he’d been executed? Was he trying to save face? Krel sincerely doubts it was something that simple—this is Morando he’s talking about here, and Morando is a schemer if there ever was one. But just what could he have possibly gotten from lying to Krel about the boy being dead? It’s not like he could have fled the palace again any time soon to look for him, not with Papa tripling the guards after his stunt.

“Krel.”

He turns to see Papa standing at his door.

“Papa!” he says, actually excited to talk about the whole marriage thing for once. “You won’t believe it, I just had the most wonderful time! I’m so happy.”

“You should be, Krel,” Papa says, his voice oddly flat, completely monotone. A shiver runs down Krel’s spine. Something’s not right here. “I have chosen a husband for you.”

“Excuse me?” Krel says.

“You will wed Morando,” Papa says as Morando pushes the other door open.

Krel staggers back, too horrified to speak.

“You’re speechless, I see,” Morando says, stepping forward. “A fine quality in a spouse.”

He takes Krel’s hand, but Krel tears his hand away and slaps Morando across the face. “I will never marry you.”

“How dare you!” Morando seethes, raising his own hand in a threat.

“Lay a single finger on me, and I will make sure no one finds your body,” Krel hisses. Morando actually hesitates—something in the prince’s voice is practically rabid. Morando is overcome by the feeling that the prince before him is a cornered animal giving one last warning before it tears its captor’s face off.

“Papa, snap out of it!” Krel says, taking advantage of Morando’s hesitation to go over to his father and shake him by the shoulders. “I know you’d never make me marry him. There has to be something wrong!”

“You’ve forced his hand, that’s what’s wrong,” Morando says. “Your time is up, and you are still suitor-less.”

“No! I choose Prince Dahi!” Krel says.

“Prince Dahi left,” Morando says.

Before Krel can even express his confusion, there’s a scoff from the other side of the room.

“Might want to double check your sources, Morando,” Douxie says, scowling at the vizir. It takes Krel off guard—such a dark expression does not belong on the prince’s kind face.

“Prince Dahi!” Krel says.

“Prince Dahi!?” Morando gasps at the same time.

“Why don’t you tell them the truth, Morando?” Douxie says, marching over. “You tried to have me killed!”

“Ridiculous!” Morando scoffs, retreating to once more stand beside the Sultan. “It’s nonsense, Your Highness. He is obviously lying.”

Douxie sees it then as Morando quite unsubtly raises his staff in the Sultan’s line of sight—after seeing all of Toby’s magic, it’s plain as day. The yellow glow in the eyes of the snake-staff, the yellowish haze that seems to hang in the Sultan’s irises. That’s magic.

“Obviously lying,” Sultan Fialkov repeats, as flat and inflectionless as before.

“Papa! What is wrong with you!?” Krel says.

“I know what’s wrong,” Douxie says, his sticky fingers once more coming in handy, allowing him to slip the golden staff out of Morando’s hands easily. He then raises it over his head, and as Morando tries to lunge for it, Douxie brings the face of the snake down onto the marble floor as hard as he can. It shatters, and from it comes whisps of yellow.

“W-what?” the Sultan then says, stumbling a little. Krel catches him as he brings a hand to his head. “What’s happened?”

“Your Highness, Morando has been controlling you with this,” Douxie says, showing the staff to Sultan Fialkov, those yellow whisps still not quite yet dissipated.

Fialkov takes the staff from Douxie’s hands, first looking confused, and then, as his head clears, enraged.

“Morando,” the Sultan says, his voice deep, loud, and angry. “I believe you are well aware of the punishment for treason.”

Morando starts to back up as the three men round on him. “Your Majesty, I can explain all of this.”

“You had your warning,” Fialkov spits at the man. “And now, you shall know the consequences. GUARDS!”

Morando has half a mind to turn heel and run, but a glint catches his eye. Prince Abubu’s turban is secured on his belt, and within it is a distinct and unforgettable lamp.

He now understands why this prince has been so confounding—he’s not a prince at all! Just a street rat with a touch of magic.

“Arrest him at once!” Fialkov says.

Morando suddenly finds himself manhandled by a couple of those filthy pigs he had in his back pocket but minutes ago.

“This is not over, boy!” he snarls, managing to snag from his cloak another of the little trinkets Morgana gifted him to aid in his procurement of the ring. One he hadn’t needed—until now.

Douxie sees Morando extract a vial from his cloak. He lunges forward, but Morando is faster. The vial shatters upon impact with the floor, filling the area with thick, choking red smoke. Luckily, it clears quickly. Unluckily, when it does, there is no sign of Morando.

“FIND HIM!” the Sultan orders, but Douxie isn’t paying attention to that.

He goes over to Krel and gently places a hand on his back, Krel taking the other one as he continues to hack and cough from the smoke.

“Krel? Are you alright?” Douxie asks worriedly.

Krel coughs a couple more times and then takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “Yeah. I think so.”

Krel moves in, intending to pull Douxie down into a relieved kiss, but Papa cuts the moment short, pushing the two apart as he angrily paces between them.

“I should have seen his treacherous nature years ago!” he rants, eyes ablaze. “Coranda never liked him—I should have trusted her judgment.”

But the two simply move back together as the Sultan continues to rant and rave, Krel’s hands sliding over Douxie’s shoulders, Douxie’s hands finding Krel’s waist, both fitting as if they had always belonged there.

And Fialkov stops. As his head continues to clear, more memories present themselves, and something Krel said not too long ago comes racing to the surface, words he’d honestly started to think he’d never hear.

“Wait,” he says, turning around to find the two already midday way into an embrace. “You…Krel, you’ve finally chosen a suitor? Really?”

Krel smiles and nods.

“Oh, thank Seklos and Gaylen!” Sultan Fialkov says. “You two will wed at once, and this nightmare will finally be over, and the next ruling Sultan and Sultana…er, other Sultan, shall be secured!”

“Papa,” Krel says.

“Right, sorry,” Sultan Fialkov says.

“Sultan, eh?” Douxie says. Huh. Imagine it! Him, the Sultan! Oh. Oh, good lord. Him. The Sultan.

“That is kind of part of the whole marrying-a-prince package,” Krel says. He then says lowly so only Douxie can properly hear him, “Don’t worry. I will be right here to help you. This is what I’ve been trained for my entire life.”

Krel must have been able to see the rising panic in his face.

While Douxie does find some comfort in Krel’s words, unease still churns in his guts.

“Sultan indeed,” Sultan Fialkov says. “A fine, upstanding young man such as yourself, and from such an esteemed kingdom as well, I can think of no one better to take the throne alongside my son. Someone of your impeachable moral character is exactly what this kingdom needs!”

He wouldn’t exactly call his moral character impeachable; he has been lying (sort of) to the Sultan this entire time, after all. But it’ll be fine—he has Krel, and with Douxie here, there’ll finally be someone at the top who understands the struggle of those at the bottom. Maybe he can actually make real, lasting change! Maybe he can make it so people like those two kids won’t have to go hungry ever again.

Yeah.

It’ll be hard at first, but he can do it.

He just has to keep telling himself that.

///

It’s almost too good to be true!

But it is true—Prince Dahi is nothing more than that ragged urchin, Hisirdoux!

He has the lamp!

Now Morando just needs a scheme, a way to relieve the boy of the power no filthy guttersnipe could ever deserve…

Hmm…the head guard stationed in the city was always so easy to manipulate…and news of his banishment probably hasn’t made its way down to the slums yet…

///

The next day finds Douxie overlooking the palace gardens, deep in thought. Krel is off finalizing some wedding details with his father, meaning Douxie is alone (relatively). He was just in this position yesterday outside Krel’s window, yet that feels like a lifetime ago.

And he’s still wrapping his head around this whole ‘Sultan’ thing.

He knows Krel will help him, and hopefully, it will be a while yet before Sultan Fialkov dies and the crown passes to them, but there’s still this growing knot of anxiety in his chest, the unease having calcified.

“I really am gonna be Sultan, aren’t I?” he mutters aloud, wringing his turban nervously in his hands.

In a stream of orange smoke, Toby appears out of the lamp with a great cheer. “Huzzah! Hail the conquering hero!” The genie turns himself into a one-man band, playing a victory song.

Douxie gives a huff of laughter at Toby’s antics before wandering back into the room Sultan Fialkov gave him, his thoughts still jumbled.

He’s stopped in his tracks by Toby, who zips into his path. “Douxie, you’ve just won the heart of the prince! What’re you gonna do next?”

“I—” He doesn’t know. The more he thinks, the tighter that knot of anxiety grows.

Toby leans in close, “Psst, your line is, ‘I am going to free the genie.’ Anytime.”

“I-I…I can’t,” Douxie says, the anxiety now crawling up his throat.

“Sure, you can!” Toby says before grabbing Douxie’s face and using him as a mock ventriloquist dummy. “You just go, ‘Toby, I wish you free.’ ”

“Toby, I can’t!” Douxie says, tearing himself out of Toby’s grip. What he needs is a grip on himself, but now the anxiety has rooted in his head, and he can feel himself spiraling. “I can’t, not right now, I can’t.”

“Woah there, dude,” Toby says. “You might wanna take a moment and breathe. In and out.”

Douxie falls onto his bed and does his best to try and breathe like Toby says, but the anxiety has moved into his lungs, squeezing them for all their worth.

But eventually, after several long minutes, he finally starts to calm down. His breath is still shaky, but he’s stopped hyperventilating, and the panic has cleared enough to allow some rational thought to creep back in.

Of course, this happens just in time for—

“Prince Dahi?” a voice calls from outside the door.

It takes him a moment, and he has to swallow a couple of times, but he manages to call back, “Uh, just a second!” He looks at Toby, who just shrugs.

Toby retreats to his lamp, and once all signs of his presence are gone, Douxie opens the door. Waiting for him is Kubritz—just about the last person he wants to see right now.

I wonder what she’d say if she knew who I was?

“Can I help you with something?” Douxie asks.

“I am here to inform you that you are needed at the gallery for the official announcement of your engagement to Prince Krel,” she says.

“…Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing here?” Douxie asks. “You are a city guard, not a royal guard.”

“One of the royal guards has fallen ill, and as the head of the city guard, I was called to fill in,” she says. “Today is far too important for any position to be left unattended.”

“Um…ok?” Douxie says. “Just a moment, I was—”

“I’m afraid you must leave now if you wish to be on time,” she says.

Douxie sighs. Looks like he’s going to have to have this conversation with Toby later.

“Alright, I’ll be on my way then,” Douxie says.

Kubritz throws open the door for Douxie but manages to clip him hard enough in the shoulder to send him crashing to the ground.

This asshole…

“Prince Dahi! I am so sorry,” the guard says. “Allow me to help.”

“I am perfectly capable of getting up on my own,” Douxie says, picking himself up off the floor, trying to bite back his annoyance. It’d be no big deal if it were any other guard, but Kubritz just gets his blood boiling.

“Well, then, please allow me to get your turban for you,” she says. Douxie looks at her properly again and sees that she is already holding out the article.

Douxie sighs deeply and takes the turban. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

With that, Douxie makes his way toward the gallery.

///

“Vizir Morando?”

“Do you have it?” Morando asks.

“Yes,” Kubritz says, holding the lamp out for Morando. “You were right, the prince is a thief.”

Morando snatches the lamp from the guard, a hungry gleam in his eye. Finally, after all these years of searching, the lamp is his!

“Your orders?” Kubritz asks.

“Oh, no need for orders. I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding,” Morando says, making sure to play up the act. “My mother’s lamp is returned to me. That is what matters. Now, run along back to your post. I will take care of speaking with the prince.”

Kubritz looks dissatisfied but bows and leaves.

Morando will have to reward her once he is Sultan.

(And whatever happened to the royal guard who was supposed to be here…well, that is of no importance now.)

///

“People of Akiridion!” Douxie hears the Sultan announce as he approaches the gallery. Yeesh, Kubritz wasn’t kidding. “My son has finally chosen a suitor!”

“There you are!” Krel says, running down the steps to grab Douxie’s wrist and pull him back up. “Come on! The whole kingdom has turned out for Papa’s announcement.”

The next thing Douxie knows, Krel is shoving his turban onto his head and then pushing him through luxurious blue curtains as Sultan Fialkov announces his “name”. “Prince Dahi Ababwa!”

Below him, the crowd stretches as far as he can see through the streets, all of them cheering for him. He can see people who used to spit on him, people he used to share stolen food with, and people he’s never met or even seen in his entire life.

Douxie waves awkwardly, trying to summon up the charm he’s worked so hard to cultivate.

And while this is happening, Morando, finally alone, rubs the lamp.

He watches as the orange genie materializes from the lamp, not doing anything to contain his glee. “Hey, Doux, what was—woah. Unless you’ve suddenly gotten a lot of work done, I don’t think you’re Doux.”

The man’s grin grows wider, a manic light in his eyes, and Toby dearly wishes in this moment that he wasn’t bound to listen to this guy so he could hide in his lamp from all the crazy going on in front of him. But he can’t, so he falls back on what he knows—humor. “So, uh, tonight, the part of Doux will be played by a tall, dark, and sinister ugly man.”

Said man grabs him by the hair and throws him to the floor before stepping on his head, rubbing his face into the dirty stone of this long-forgotten hidden room in the palace, a place Morando has been visiting for years to do his scheming in private.

“I am your master now!” Morando spits. He will not allow his slave to speak to him in such a way.

“I was afraid of that,” Toby wheezes.

“Genie, grant me my first wish!” Morando says. “I wish for you to make me the most powerful sorcerer in the world!”

Never again will he have to rely on another for potions and spells!

Outside, clouds spiral into existence, occluding the sun and the sky. A mighty wind rips through Akiridion, which strips the roof and most of the walls from the gallery Douxie stands in with Krel and the Sultan.

“What is going on!?” Krel asks, his voice barely audible over the wind.

They get the answer quickly.

The wind whips around and around, forming a mini tornado in front of the three of them. When it clears, Morando stands before them, a brand new, gleaming staff in his hands, the snakehead’s eyes deep crimson garnets that glow with magic.

“Morando!” Sultan Fialkov snarls.

“Fialkov, how lovely to see you again,” Morando says. “I’ll be taking what is mine now.”

With a wave of his staff, Sultan Fialkov’s vestments suddenly turn from fine silk to shabby, thread-bare wool, and Morando’s outfit turns into deep blue silk. He then says with a cackle, “Bow to your new Sultan!”

“Sultan? We’ll see about that!” Douxie says, whipping off his turban. But much to his horror and dismay, the lamp isn’t there.

“Looking for something?” Morando says.

“No…”

“Finders keepers, Abubu,” Morando says.

A great quake suddenly tears through the palace, and upon turning his gaze skyward, his heart jams into his throat at the sight of Toby, now massive, ripping the palace from the ground. Below them, the people scream and panic, trying to run away and getting stuck in the throng.

As Toby lifts the palace high in the sky, Douxie jumps on Carpet and flies up. “Toby, no!”

“Sorry, Doux,” Toby says. “I have a new master now.”

With another great rumble, the palace is placed atop the western cliffs, high above the kingdom.

“Welcome to my new order!” Morando says, his smile stretched wide, too wide, making his face look almost inhuman. “Now, I said bow!”

“We will never bow to a soolian like you!” Krel says and then spits on Morando’s shoes.

“If you will not bow, then you will cower!” Morando snarls, lifting his staff to the heavens.

But neither Krel nor Sultan Fialkov flinches, not as he starts to cast his spell, not as crackling magic gathers around the staff, not as the sky rumbles with thunder.

A roar sounds out, and Morando is forced to change directions, flinging a spell back toward Luug instead, turning the massive tiger into a tiny kitten.

“Now, where were we?” Morando muses. “Ah, yes. Abject humiliation! Bow.”

With a blast of red light, the Sultan and Prince Krel are forced to their knees. Krel does his utmost to resist it, but it’s like his body is no longer his, and the harder he struggles, the worse it hurts. After a few strained seconds, he all but crumples forward.

Something cold is placed under his chin and lifts his head so he can look Morando in the eyes.

“Oh, Prince, there is someone I’m dying to introduce you to.”

“Get your hands off of him!” Douxie shouts, Carpet diving for the mad sorcerer.

“Prince Dahi, yes, it is he, but not as you know him!” Morando flings a spell at Douxie, capturing him and dragging him down to their level.

“Read my lips and come to grips with reality.” Morando raises Krel off the ground and pulls him over to him and the trapped prince.

“Yes, meet a blast from your past, whose lies were too good to last,” Morando says, gripping Krel’s shoulder hard enough to hurt as the red light around him vanishes.

“Say hello to your precious Prince Dahi!” Morando turns to his genie and cries into the heavens, “Genie, for my second wish, I wish for you to strip the street rat of his lies!”

Douxie only gets a second to panic before another blast of magic hits him. It breaks Morando’s magical grip on him, but he is left standing in his rags, all bits of his princehood gone.

“Oh, it’s a thrill,” Morando laughs, throwing Krel aside and recasting the holding spell before Krel can get back to his feet. “Oh, it’s such fun. To see another fellow’s dreams turn into nightmares, one by one!”

A great roar transforms into a yowl overhead, and Douxie can barely dart out to catch Archie in time—he must have been coming to help.

“It’s such a lark. It’s such a joy,” Morando continues, “to roll my sleeves up and humiliate the boy!

“Oh, it’s a kick! Oh, it’s a bash! When we remove the fancy turban and the fancy silken sash!” Before he knows it, Douxie’s recaptured, arms pinned to his sides, legs stuck together, almost as if he was tied up, and with a wave of Morando’s staff, he’s suddenly flipped upside down. “And now we’ve repossessed the clothes, Dahi’s lies revealed, ruse destroyed! That’s right, I’ll do it, I’ll humiliate the boy!”

Douxie struggles and strains against the magical hold, but he’s no match—after all, Morando wished to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

Morando spins the boy right side up again, then walks over and grabs him by the chin to yank him forward and down. “Once he was proud. Once he was fine. The very model of Akiridion design.”

Douxie disagrees with that one—the style was similar but different enough from Akiridion clothing that he could pull off being from a different kingdom while still appealing to Akiridion fashion sense.

But the more pressing concern is this man’s filthy fingers are touching his face. But he’s utterly helpless, unable to do much more than blink and breathe.

Morando then throws the boy on the ground, keeping him pinned with his magic, and places his boot on the side of his face, pressing down enough to cause pain but not so hard as to cause permanent damage—he’s not done having fun yet. “But such is fate. Too bad, tsk-tsk. I guess he’s had to learn the hard way rubbing lamps involves some risk!”

“And it’s so rich! And it’s so rare! To take his shirt, his shoes, his jewelry, and the shine out of his hair!” Suddenly, it’s like Douxie’s been dragged through the slum gutters, clogged and tarnished with muck as they are from years of neglect by the city. He’s covered in grime and soaked through with sloughy sewage. He’s used to being dirty, but not so much being wet at the same time. He coughs and splutters from the pungency of the fetor.

“Oh, I’ll emasculate him slowly, all the better to enjoy. How delicious to humiliate the boy!” Morando then moves Douxie right in front of Krel, flipped upside down once more. “What do you think of him now, Prince Krel? Your knight in shining armor isn’t so shiny anymore! He’s a lying, thieving peasant not fit to even lick the bottom of your shoes, and you spent all night hanging off of him!”

“I know he’s not a prince!” Krel shouts over Morando’s gleeful taunts, giving him his dirtiest look. “I don’t care!”

“Really?” Morando says. “Looks like the urchin has some honesty in him after all. Too bad that I don’t care.

“So, Dahi turns out to be merely Hisirdoux! Once told the truth, the insolent youth, but changes nothing for me.”

Morando flings Douxie back and picks up Archie in the spell as well.

“His personality flaws to me are adequate cause to send him packing on a one-way trip, so his prospects take a terminal dip! His assets frozen, the venue chosen, is the ends of the Earth, whoopee! So long, Ex-Prince Dahi!” Morando magically throws Douxie and Archie into a tower nearby and then launches it high into the sky. He fails to notice the flash of purple and blue Persian wool darting after them.

“Douxie!” Krel yells. Morando then backhands him hard enough to knock him back. Krel loses his footing and ends up on the ground beside his father, who’s still held in a bow.

“Now, what shall I do with you two?” Morando muses.

///

It has to be a miracle that Douxie survives the impact.

He’s thrown from the half-shattered tower and lands in a bank of what has to be snow, and truly, he had never been able to imagine biting cold such as this, physically painful against his skin, especially since that dampness has also flash-frozen in his clothes and hair.

When he manages to extract himself, he starts looking around frantically.

“Archie! Archie!” He’ll never forgive himself if Archie isn’t ok.

But a pained yowl echoes from over to his right, and he manages to spot a skid trail through the snow. He runs over as best he can with his bare feet frozen as they are, and it only takes two shovels of the snow for him to find black fur.

“Oh, this is all my fault. I should have freed Toby when I had the chance!”

Once Archie’s exposed, the cat crawls out and leaps into Douxie’s arms, trembling fiercely. Douxie tucks him into his vest to try and help warm him up, but he knows it’s ultimately futile. He has to find a way back to Akiridion, and quickly.

But which way to go? Is there even anything anywhere near here?

Ok, Douxie, now is not the time to overthink. Just start walking.

Since they skidded down the hill and toward the cliffside, he figures that’s as good a way to go as any, retrace the direction they came from.

After a few steps, though, he steps on something hard, and Carpet pops out of the snow, completely frozen.

But Carpet seems to be half stuck beneath the tower.

He tries digging with the hand not cradling Archie to his chest, but his numb fingers don’t want to work, and there’s just so much snow…

“Need a hand?”

He nearly jumps right out of his skin at the new voice. He whips around to see a woman standing there.

However, once his heart stops thundering, he realizes her accent is incredibly familiar.

“You are from Akiridion, yes?” she asks, and she takes her hood down, exposing a pale face and white-blonde hair he’d recognize anywhere, having seen so many portraits of her with Krel in the palace.

“P-Princess Aj-ja?” he says, unable to keep his voice steady.

“Here, let me help,” she says, kneeling beside him and digging. She’s much better at this than he—but of course, she’s in a thick dress lined with fur and has mittens on, so she’s not halfway frozen to death like him.

“H-how are you h-here?” he asks.

“You are not far from the northern Palchukian border,” she explains. “Steve and I came out here a few days ago to spend some time at the family lodge nearby. When I saw the Akiridion tower fall out of the sky, I got down here as quickly as I could.”

What are the odds???

He doesn’t know, but he’s not going to question them.

He and Aja keep digging, trying to free Carpet, and finally, they manage to free one of its tassels, only for the tower to creak and shift.

It’s going to crush them.

His eyes snap to the window. If he can time this right…

He grabs Aja by the wrist and pulls her over before hugging her close. Sure enough, the window lines up, allowing the tower to roll harmlessly over them and off the cliff.

Carpet then fully bursts from the snow, ready and raring to go.

“Is that a real flying carpet!?” she gasps, delighted, surprisingly unphased by their brush with death.

“Yep,” Douxie says. “And I need to get back to Akiridion, so, uh, I’ll say hi to Krel for you!”

“You know Krel?” she asks him.

“I mean, we are—were?—engaged,” Douxie says, hopping onto Carpet and then taking off, Aja’s “What!?” echoing after them.

“Thank you!” he shouts back, hoping it reaches her. Then he turns his eyes southward. He’s got a prince and a kingdom to save.

///

In the Akiridion palace, Krel glares silently at Morando, trying to pour as much hatred into it as possible without speaking. He’s not going to give him the pleasure.

He’s chained to the throne Morando is sitting on, standing as far away as he possibly can, a platter of fruit clutched in his hands. Not far from them, Papa is kept in a cage, much like Luug is, with about the same amount of dignity.

“You know, it pains me to see you reduced to this, Prince Krel,” Morando says.

Which is total bullshit. Krel scowls even deeper at him.

“It pains me not to see you reduced further,” Morando then corrects.

Krel would spit on him again if one of the chains weren’t connected to a collar around his throat, just shy of too tight, prime for Morando to use to choke him.

“Hmm…how could I humiliate you and your father even more?” Morando wonders out loud.

Krel bites his tongue to keep himself from speaking, the tang of blood soaking into his pallet and up into his sinuses. It doesn’t matter what Morando does to him; he cannot give this bastard the satisfaction of breaking him.

“Oh!” Morando says, his face lighting up. This can’t be anything good. “Oh, it’s too good. And so obvious, how did I not remember this sooner? Genie! I have decided to make my final wish!”

The genie—Toby, as he recalls Douxie telling him—looks like he’d rather gargle broken glass than listen to Morando, but unfortunately, he can’t disobey him. He gets up from his spot and swoops over.

“I wish for Prince Krel to fall desperately in love with me,” Morando says, and sick horror washes over Krel. “You worked so hard not to marry me, and now, you’ll want nothing more.”

“Uh, Master,” Toby says, “there are a few addendums, some quid pro quos—”

“Don’t talk back to me, you big orange lout!” Morando shouts, grabbing Toby harshly by the hair. “You will do as I order you to do!”

As Morando yells at Toby, movement catches Krel’s eye. To his utter shock and immense relief, Douxie is in the window with Archie and Carpet. He locks eyes with Krel and presses a finger to his lips.

Right.

Well, if stealth is the mission, then Douxie’s going to need a distraction.

Oh, Seklos and Gaylen, he’s really about to do this, isn’t he?

“Morando,” Krel says, sauntering closer to the throne. “I never realized how incredibly handsome you are.”

Toby’s jaw drops as Morando’s face lights up.

“That’s better, genie,” Morando says, returning to his throne and beckoning Krel closer. “Now, how about you tell me more about myself? Everything you love about me.”

Krel hopes he gets a chance to punch this motherfucker in the face before this is all over.

“You are tall, dark, well dressed…”

Toby can only watch the scene unfold with utter bamboozlement. Did he do that? He couldn’t have done that! Could he?

He inspects his hands to see if maybe something about how he does his magic has changed, but nope, they’re the same as before.

As he inspects, though, something compels him to look over, and he catches Douxie sliding down one of the curtains to the floor!

“Doux!” he whispers shouts, unable to contain his joy. He flies over to him but then stops short. “I…I can’t help you, I work for Señor Psychopath now. What are you gonna do?”

“Hey, I’m a street rat, remember?” Douxie says, flashing a sly smile. “I’ll improvise.”

Douxie creeps through the room as fast as he can while staying quiet, the only noise in the room Krel’s compliments, and Douxie can only imagine the mounting rage inside of him.

“And your beard is so twisted,” Krel says, twirling a finger as if through his beard, but Douxie knows it’s the all-clear, the gesture beckoning him forward. “You have stolen my heart…”

Douxie moves toward the throne, where the lamp sits on one of the arms. He glances over to see that the Sultan is very resolutely Not Looking At Him.

“And the street rat?” Morando asks as Douxie finally reaches the throne. So close.

“What street rat?” Krel says.

Just a little further and the lamp will be his, just a few more inches—

Morando revels in the pathetic prince’s groveling. He’s sure somewhere in there, he’s raging, but the only words that leave his mouth are sweet praises of Morando’s greatness. Truly, this is his proper place, under Morando’s heel and loving every moment of it. But as he takes in the compliments, staring down at the scantily clad prince, he sees it. In the warped reflection of the collar he put on the boy. Him.

“You!”

A fraction of an inch shy of grabbing the lamp, Douxie is blasted away by Morando’s magic.

“How many times do I have to kill you, boy!?”

Krel lunges forward, grabbing onto Morando’s staff before he can cast another spell. They wrestle for control of it, and Krel takes the opportunity to twist the staff around in their grips and whack Morando straight in the jaw with the solid gold rod. Morando spits out a pained curse and a tooth, but he still doesn’t let go. In the end, Morando’s sheer size advantage wins out, and he throws Krel aside.

But Douxie is quick to take his place, and his greater height gives him better leverage than Krel had.

Krel goes for the lamp.

“No!” Morando yells, and he throws Douxie aside. He shoots a spell at Krel, cackling. “Ah, ah, ah, Prince! Your time is up!”

“Krel!”

He vaguely hears Douxie shout his name. All of his senses are full of static, his brain all mixed up from the force of the spell hitting him.

It takes a few moments for Krel to regain his bearings, and he finds himself not on the floor but inside an hourglass. He can already tell it’s designed to completely bury him. So, the first thing he does is rip off the stupid top Morando had made him wear, and then he stuffs it into the neck—it’s far from a perfect seal, but it’ll buy him some time. He’s got several severed chains and his wits, and Morando should know better than to think Krel can’t do something with that.

Archie goes for the lamp next, and Douxie can only watch in horror as Morando cries out, “Don’t toy with me!” and turns him into a small stuffed animal.

Carpet tries as well, but it’s reduced to string with a command from Morando, “Things are unraveling fast now, boy!”

Douxie makes another wild lunge, only to be cut off and nearly cut up by a wall of swords slamming down between him and the lamp, Morando adding another snarky one-liner, “Get the point?”

“Ay-yi-yi, if you are going to make puns, at least make good ones,” Krel grumbles to himself as he works.

Douxie takes one of the swords for himself, the awful shrill of metal scraping stone ringing as he yanks it free, ready for another charge. But Morando gets to the lamp up, picking it up, cackling madly. “I’m just getting warmed up!”

Sure enough, the sorcerer spews fire from his mouth, trapping Douxie in the center of a blazing ring.

“Are you afraid to fight me yourself, you cowardly snake!” Douxie yells, trying to bait him.

“A snake, am I?” Morando says, emerging through the fire. “Perhaps you’d like to see how snakelike I can be!”

Morando morphs into an enormous king cobra, the fire surrounding Douxie becoming his tail. He strikes out, forcing Douxie to use every bit of experience he’s ever gotten from traversing rooftops and alleyways in order to dodge. But on the third strike, he sees an opening and manages to slash Morando’s tongue with the sword still in his grip.

Morando reels back with a cry, and Douxie hears from somewhere off to the side in the cadence of a cheer, “Rick ‘em, rack ‘em, rock ‘em, rake, stick that sword into that snake!”

“Stay out of this, slave,” Morando hisses.

Toby responds with a flat, “Morando, Morando, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, GREAT!”

Douxie takes advantage of Morando’s brief distraction to make a run for the hourglass. He expected to see Krel partially buried by sand. Instead, he spots Krel topless, the shirt—if you could even call it that—now stuffed in the neck and substantially slowing the grains, and Krel is doing…something with the broken chains still attached to his wrists, ankles, and neck. He watches as Krel seems to take a twisted end to the back of the golden collar and actually laughs out loud when it falls off, Krel having been able to somehow twist one of the broken chain links into a lock pick.

Before Douxie can reach the hourglass, Morando strikes out again, knocking over an immense pile of gold this time, which knocks into Douxie and sends his sword flying out of his hands.

He then dives under the lashing tail and uses a large gold plate from a pile to skid around a different pile. Another leap over Morando’s tail as Morando slams it down lands Douxie next to his sword, and he then just manages to lunge to the side quick enough for Morando to miss him and ram straight through the palace wall. Douxie then stabs the sword into the snake as hard as he can before Morando can pull his head back in. He turns to the hourglass just in time to see Krel swing the collar around with the chain, building speed, and then he strikes out at the thinnest section of glass, the pure gold collar heavy enough and moving fast enough to shatter it, allowing Krel to escape.

And it’s a good thing, too—just then, Morando grabs Douxie with his tail, and the massive snake encircles him, just shy of crushing him in his grip.

“You little fool!” Morando says. “You thought you could defeat the most powerful being on Earth!? Without the genie, boy, you are nothing.”

And there it is.

That perfect idea he’s been looking for.

“You’re right,” Douxie says. “And so are you. The genie has more power than you’ll ever have!”

“What!?” Morando says.

“He gave you your powers, and he can take them away!” Douxie says.

“Uh, Doux, what’re you doing? Why are you bringing me into this?” he hears Toby ask.

“Face it, Morando, you’re still just second best!” Douxie says.

Realization dawns on Morando. “You’re right. His power does exceed my own. But not for long. Why should I settle for being Sultan when I could be a god?”

Morando turns his attention to Toby, and Toby starts to laugh nervously. “The boy is crazy! Just a little punch-drunk. One too many hits with the snake.”

“Slave! I make my real third wish!” Morando says, curling around Toby now. “I wish to be an all-powerful genie!”

“Your…your wish is my command,” Toby says, his voice pitched high. “Nice going, Doux.”

A blast of orange magic hits Morando, and he starts to grow, transforming from a snake into an enormous dark blue genie, body shot through with vibrant red.

“Yes!” Morando says as he continues to grow. “Yes! The power!”

As he transforms, the snake tail disappears, releasing Douxie. He looks around frantically for Krel and finally spots him over by his father’s cage, helping the Sultan out of the confines.

“THE ABSOLUTE POWER!” Morando cries as he erupts through the top of the citadel, shaking not just the building but the cliffs themselves and all of Akiridion far below.

With his father free, Krel looks over at Douxie with a grin. He knows exactly what Douxie just did—Douxie did tell him everything on the carpet ride back, after all.

“The universe is mine to command! To control!”

They both run over to the end of Morando’s genie tail just in time to see a small red lamp materialize.

“Not so fast, Morando!” Krel yells. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Morando looks down at them with a sneer just as Douxie holds up his brand-new lamp. “You wanted to be a genie? You got it! And everything that goes with it!”

Morando lets out a cry of dismay as two gold cuffs appear on his wrists.

The new genie then starts to shrink, pulled down in a vortex, funneling unerringly into the lamp. He shrieks the whole way down.

“Phenomenal cosmic power!” Douxie says.

With a final cry, Morando is forced through the spout, contained entirely in the lamp.

“Itty bitty living space,” Krel finishes, and Douxie has to hold in a snort that Krel also remembers that quote from last night.

“Doux! You crazy genius!” Toby cheers.

All around them, Morando’s spells are undone, the “death” of the sorcerer releasing all of the magic. Archie turns back into a cat as Luug regrows into a tiger. Carpet is rewoven. Krel and Sultan Fialkov are restored along with the throne room, and as the clouds clear from the sky, the castle reappears in its rightful place at the center of Akiridion.

///

“What should we do with it?” Douxie wonders aloud, looking over the red lamp in his hands.

“Allow me,” Toby says with far too much glee in his voice. Douxie gladly hands the lamp over, and Toby zips out onto a balcony. “Ten thousand years in the Cave of Wonders ought to chill him out!”

Toby winds up a throw and hurls the lamp with a victorious laugh, Morando’s prison disappearing far into the desert, farther than the eye can see, trailed by sparks of orange magic.

Fingers then weave into his own, and Douxie looks to see Krel’s come over. And his heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

Morando’s becoming a genie and subsequent imprisonment might have broken all of his own spells, but the genie wishes he made are perfectly intact, meaning Douxie is 100% just a street rat once again.

Douxie takes both of Krel’s hands in his own and holds them close to his heart as Krel presses his forehead into Douxie’s.

“I’m sorry,” Douxie says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the real prince you deserve.”

“Don’t,” Krel says. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“That doesn’t change the law, though,” Douxie says, pulling away, but stopped from totally letting go by Krel, who grips his hands even harder. “Which means…which means this is goodbye.”

“That stupid klebbing law,” Krel says. “This isn’t fair. I love you.”

“It’s no problem, Doux.” They both look to see a large Toby watching them. “You’ve still got one wish left. Just say the word, and you’re a prince again.”

“What about your freedom?” Douxie says, turning to approach him.

“Meh, it’s only an eternity of servitude,” Toby says. He then scoots Douxie and Krel back together. “This is love.”

Toby then shrinks to swoop around by Krel, gesturing as if presenting him to Douxie. “Doux, you won’t find another like him in a million years.” He then swoops over to Douxie. “Believe me, I know, I’ve looked.”

Douxie bites his lip and considers for barely a fraction of a second. There’s really no question here.

“Toby,” he says, “I wish for your freedom.”

“One bona fide prince pedigree coming up—wait, what?” Toby says.

“Toby, you’re free,” Douxie says, holding out the lamp.

The lamp lifts from his hands, glowing brightly. Douxie can only smile as he watches, and Krel moves to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, smiling just as widely. The cuffs on Toby’s wrists break, and his genie tail fully separates from the lamp, turning into a pair of legs in a swirl of glowing color and flashes of bright orange magic. The magical lamp flickers and then falls to the ground, now just an ordinary lamp.

Toby hesitantly reaches up and picks up the lamp, tears starting to well in his eyes.

“I’m free,” Toby says, the words coming out like he’s trying out how they feel in his mouth. “I’m free… quick, quick, wish for something outrageous! Say you—you want the Nile, wish for the Nile! Try that!” Toby shoves the lamp into Douxie’s hands.

“Uh, I wish for the Nile,” Douxie says.

“NO WAY!” Toby says, his grin as bright as the sun. He then starts bouncing around, lighting the balcony up with all those bright colors, his joy so uncontainable. “Hahaha! Oh, does that feel good! I’m free! I’m free at last!”

Then he stops and conjures up a suitcase, making a big show of packing. “I’m hittin’ the road! I’m off to see the world! I’m gonna finally catch up with Jimbo again! I’m—”

But as soon as he looks back at Douxie, he stops, something heavier settling on him.

“You know, Toby, I’m—I’m gonna miss you,” Douxie says.

“Me too, Doux,” Toby says, sniffling loudly. He then goes in for a big hug, scooping Douxie into his arms. “No matter what anybody says, you’ll always be a prince to me.”

“When I’m Sultan, I’m changing that law,” Krel says once they separate. “And once I do, you better be ready because I will not wait a second more.”

“Oh no, we are not putting off your marriage any longer!” Sultan Fialkov suddenly says behind them.

Krel whirls around. “I am not marrying anyone else! I am marrying Douxie, no matter how long I have to wait!”

“Please!” King Fialkov says, taking them both off guard.

“What?” Krel asks, confused.

“Please marry him, I’m begging you,” Sultan Fialkov says. “I am not going through the process of trying to find you a suitor again, I refuse.”

“You’re…you’re changing the law?” Douxie says, almost disbelieving it.

“Whatever it takes to get Krel married so I can think about literally anything else,” Sultan Fialkov says. And then he sighs deeply, and his expression turns warm. “And…you make him happy. You’ve certainly more than proven your worth. I don’t think I could possibly find a better husband for my son.”

“Thank you, Papa!” Krel says, hugging his father tightly. Then he turns back to Douxie, and Douxie doesn’t waste a moment, picking him up and twirling him around.

“Oh!” Toby says, and now he’s tearing up even more. “I just love happy endings! Ok, more hugs, more hugs!”

The genie pulls both him and Krel into an almost crushing hug.

“I’ll come back to visit, promise,” Toby sniffles.

“You better,” Douxie says.

And with that, Toby lets go of them and takes off into the sky for whatever adventure lies ahead of him—for the very first time, his own adventure.

///

Their engagement ends up being the biggest bash Akiridion has seen in years, people flooding the streets, fireworks courtesy of Krel everywhere you look, and music echoing from the palace to the furthest slums as the entire kingdom rejoices.

They watch the festivities from far above, curled together on Carpet. It’s the first time today they’ve gotten proper privacy. Everyone wanted to see them and say something and do something, and even in the morning before the celebration started, they had no time together as they were separated to be fitted for their new outfits made especially for this. They’re both dressed in violet now, real Tyrian purple, and Douxie almost feels like Dahi again in such fancy clothing, but there are notable differences in the getup. He still has his fez instead of the turban. And, at Krel’s insistence, the top is an open coat more akin to his vest, allowing Krel to splay his fingers against Douxie’s bare chest.

“You know, not even Aja’s engagement to the Blond Oaf got this big of a party,” Krel says.

“Oh! Aja says hi,” Douxie says.

“Excuse me?” Krel says.

“Morando launched me to the far north, and as luck would have it, I landed just outside Palchukia near where she and King Steven were residing. She saw the crash and came and helped me dig Carpet out of the snow,” Douxie says.

“Did you mention anything about us getting married?” Krel asks.

“Perhaps,” Douxie says.

“Oh, I’m never hearing the end of this,” Krel says. “Do you know how many letters I’m about to get from her? How long they’re all going to be?”

Douxie can’t help but laugh at the dreadful expression on Krel’s face, and Krel can’t help but join him.

They settle back into comfortable, companionable silence, and Douxie can't help but think back on that first night when they saw the world together with Carpet.

He sits back slightly to look at Krel, and Krel looks at him, both of them illuminated a hundred colors by the fireworks. “A whole new world.”

Krel blushes with a fond smile, probably remembering that night as well. “A whole new life.”

“For you and me.”

And there, gliding far above the glowing kingdom on a magic carpet, a street rat pulls a prince into a warm, perfect kiss.