Night in Balbadd is always warm these days. The breezes shift uneasily, bringing smells of the South, ruffling the hair around Aladdin's face, combing through the loose, unbound mess of the rest of it. A tiny white flower peeks up at him through a crack in the wooden window frame; hardly unusual, that. Flowers and grass and little tiny trees have cropped up all over Balbadd, shoving cobblestones aside and worming their way through anywhere left unattended for a few hours. It's nearly as bad now as Sindria had been, before they'd left.

The breeze picks up, changes, this time a chill breeze from the North. Aladdin breathes in deeply, tasting the magical currents on the breeze, and he knows.

It's time.

He speaks the words to a spell Judal had taught him years ago, and his hair braids itself, just as he reaches for the rumpled cloth lying on the floor, winding it carefully around his head. It will be hot, as hot as here, where he's going.

For a brief second, he considers sneaking out the window; he hates goodbyes.

But….he deserves better than that.

Aladdin kneels on the bed, leaning down to brush a kiss across Judal's forehead. His rukh flutters, a little confused and nervous, and Aladdin sends his will out, calming it. He's trying, he reminds it. There's less of a dark swirl in Judal's rukh now than there had been, but it's a struggle every day, those bad habits so easy to fall into no matter how he tries.

It's why Aladdin has to go.

Judal stirs, shifting on the mussed pile of silk and pillows to peer blearily up through the loose, heavy fall of his hair. "… Aladdin?" The sun is far from being up, and the night breeze is humid and balmy, as far inland as they are. The ports of Balbadd are different-all that fog obnoxious and unpleasant and cold-but they had stayed there, too, as long as Judal could stand it, for Aladdin's sake.

He yawns, stretching out a hand to grasp the other Magi's arm. "What's wrong? Come back to bed."

"I can't. I'm leaving."

Judal is awake now.

His fingers tighten. "So let me come, too."

Aladdin wants to. His hand comes up to stroke Judal's cheek, and even that is almost enough to convince him to stay. "You can't. You know that."

"I can so! Sindria is doing fine, I haven't even been there in a year and they haven't needed me and-" Judal's head shoves forward, butting against Aladdin's hand. "I don't want to be alone."

He watches me even more when you aren't here, I can't do this.

"Judal…."

This is why he has to go, he knows. Because Judal hasn't been free in a while, and because nothing's going to get any better if he doesn't go.

He crawls onto the bed, wrapping Judal in his arms, and nods his head at the window, and the cloudless spring night. "By the time winter's over," he promises. "I'll be back."

"… Too long," is the tired mumble into Aladdin's shoulder. Judal pulls away, sniffing, leaving Aladdin's shoulder wet. "Fine. Whatever. Just leave me, then."

A thousand things come to Aladdin's mind-you know I have to go, you know this is for your sake, you know it hurts me just as much, I'll think of you every day while I'm gone-but he says none of them. If Judal didn't know those things, Aladdin wouldn't have to go. He tilts Judal's head up, pressing a soft kiss to one of his tear-streaked cheeks. "Stay safe for me, will you? I need to know I'm coming home to you."

Judal exhales a wet huff, smacking his hand away, never mind that there's no real aggression there. "If you're coming home." He pulls back, wiping a finger delicately underneath one eye. "The last time was five years, you always get sidetracked. Just…" His lower lip trembles. "Just hurry up and go before I make you stay."

Aladdin's smile wavers. "Can I have a goodbye kiss?"

The childish, petulant urge to tell him no rises up sharply. But he can't, he just can't. "Only a little one."

Aladdin claims it himself, leaning down to brush his lips against Judal's, too brief, too light to be satisfying, and pulls away with a visible effort. Blue eyes twinkle, and he says, voice steady, "Any more than that and I won't be able to leave you."

There's no use putting it off. It's only worse for Judal that way, and he has to go.

He hates the word, so he squeezes Judal's hand, and whips the turban off his head, leaping out the window and soaring away into the sunrise.

This is not a good day.

Sometimes Sinbad can tell before he even wakes up, and this is certainly one of those days. No matter that the allocation and relocation of the second portion of Sindria raised from the sea is finally finished, with thriving markets and happy children (far too many of whom are under the age of three, but that is, apparently, only natural), and everything should be fine.

There's something in the air, crackling and unsteady, but the first hint he gets is when a messenger bird drops a scroll into his hand. It takes him a few seconds to read the flowing legal speak, but when he finishes, he has to work hard not to crush the scroll into powder between his fingers.

He takes off along the corridor, robes streaming behind him, and crashes his way into the council meeting. It's not the sort of meeting he's generally required to attend, day-to-day briefings about coding and zoning laws, but all his generals will be there, and one in particular draws his eye. He slams the scroll down on the table, meeting Alibaba's eyes, a furious challenge in his own. "What's the meaning of this?"

Ja'far, in the middle of the first briefings, immediately opens his mouth to say something about Sinbad's rather poor entrance, and how a king should set a far better example for at least his generals-

And then he shuts up, and takes that opportunity to simply get off of his feet and sit down, smoothing his robes as Alibaba clearly seems to know what is going on, and what he has done, above and beyond that.

The blond's chin immediately juts out and up, no matter how he might have shivered a little at the outright rage that filters over Sinbad's face. Truth be told, he didn't quite expect a reaction like that… nor did he expect his messengers to be so swift-footed. That's what I get for putting off this conversation, he wearily thinks. Reap what I sow, indeed.

"Laem came to me with a proposal. I accepted, for the better of my country."

"Your country," Sinbad repeats, eyes blazing dangerously. "This is an illegal contract for trade and tariff negotiation, because Balbadd isn't your country! Scheherezade can be forgiven for not understanding, but you signed your country over to me. Balbadd is my country, held in trust for an appointed governor! You have no right to make any decisions on its behalf without consulting the other generals and myself!"

It's possible he should have made this clear earlier. Then again, it hadn't seemed likely to ever arise. Alibaba had certainly never seemed inclined to go behind his back, sneaky little traitor.

"And you said you'd give Balbadd back once it was stable!" Alibaba lurches to his feet, slamming his hands down onto the table. "It's been two years, Sinbad! I want it back-I'm taking it back, and that contract will stay!"

"The agreement," Sinbad retorts, leaning over the table to face Alibaba, the little coward, the little idiot, "was that I would assist you in forming a system of government that worked. The only reason your people aren't still starving is because I lent you my Magi for the last year! You have no parliament, no governor, no education for voting citizens, which are the things you told me you wanted to have in place! You can't take it back when you don't even have standing there! All you are is a citizen!"

"I have standing there!" is the resolute snap of a reply, and Alibaba slaps a hand against his own chest. "My father left Balbadd to me! If you think I'm ungrateful for everything you've done, you're wrong. I'm very grateful, and I'm very glad for all of your help, but Balbadd is still mine. That contract with Laem is my first official document I'll sign as Balbadd's king, that's what my people want!"

"Oh, dear god," is Ja'far's low mutter, a pair of fingers digging into the bridge of his nose.

Sinbad goes very quiet. He meets Alibaba's eyes, and he doesn't want to know what Judal would see about his magoi right now. "And if," he asks quietly, "I refuse?"

"I would appreciate it," Alibaba carefully begins, meeting Sinbad's gaze with a slowly drawn breath, "if you didn't."

"I could. Easily."

"I'm asking you not to, though."

"Yes, you are." Sinbad's eyes narrow. "Give me one good reason why I should allow this."

Alibaba draws in a slow breath. "Because I will still give Sindria trade priorities in our waters, and gladly return the favor of my Magi, should you ever wish it. Also," he adds a little more weakly, "I was hoping, honestly, to be less of a burden upon Sindria by doing this. You have supported Balbadd for so long-it's the least I can to, to become independent again."

"Those words would ring truer had you not gone behind my back to forge a contract with Laem," Sinbad points out, straightening up. He looks to Ja'far, and Sharrkan, and frowns. "I will think about it. There is much to discuss. Running a country isn't simply trade."

"… I meant to come to you a few days ago, truthfully," Alibaba attempts, sinking back with a weary sigh. "My messengers were a bit faster than I expected, and I received word from Balbadd that Aladdin left, so I was a bit… distracted."

"It does beg the question," Sinbad drawls, "of why you have your own messengers, or thought to send them to forge private contracts in the first place." Don't try to worm your way out of this by feigning weakness, Saluja. I know you of old.

"I was attempting foresight?" is the quip that Alibaba probably shouldn't offer.

"Enough," Ja'far finally deigns to interrupt on a sigh, his own foresight already seeing another heated argument brewing. He stands, resting his hands upon the table. "Sin, if you'd like to mull this over, then please do so outside of the council meeting. Otherwise, sit and join us and-"

As always, the windows of Sindria's palace are tall and open wide, allowing the sea breezes to cool it easily. It is far from a sea breeze that rushes through just then, though-starkly cold and making even Ja'far shiver down to his bones, and the brewing rains born of humidity outside quickly chill.

"What the…" Pisti is the first to rise, darting over to the window and leaning nearly entirely out of it. "It's… is the rain frozen?" she asks, craning her head around and blinking when a solid flake of snow falls directly onto her forehead.

It's just going to be one of those days, Ja'far grimly thinks.

A shiver goes through Sinbad-he hates snow-and only with a massive effort does he keep from huddling down behind Masrur. This is almost certainly nothing he needs, but as the king, certainly no one else is going to deal with this.

Besides, it could only be a few people.

Sinbad walks to the window, bracing himself against the absolutely appalling cold, scanning the horizon for a familiar figure. Whichever one it is, they'd better have a damned good reason for freezing the crops.

It takes a moment, but it's Judal that suddenly appears directly in front of Sinbad, braid swaying as he dangles there upside down, mere inches from his face. "Before you ask," he dully begins, "I didn't mean to do this. It just sort of happened."

Ah. Well, that's certainly the easiest of the four to deal with. Sinbad relaxes, reaching out to toy with that familiar braid. "It's fine, it's fine. Come in, we missed you." I know I did.

"I'm going to bed."

And just like that, Judal flips up and out of sight. Ja'far's eyebrows immediately climb.

Sinbad stares after him for a moment, then looks back to the disarray of his generals, and Alibaba's confused, stubborn face.

It's too early to have a headache.

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Ja'far, what did you tell me it was called when it snowed a lot in your homeland and no one had to do any work?"

Ja'far opens his mouth to protest, but there's nothing for it, when Pisti is already climbing out of the window entirely. "… A snow day," he simply sighs, forgoing his native tongue for the sake of not being teased. "This doesn't even look like it's going to stick, though, I am certain there is still more than enough work that can be done-"

"The taverns open in only four hours, let's go, Sharrkan!" Pisti crows, obviously mystified by the stuff.

Sinbad catches Pisti and Sharrkan by the collars before they can run off. "The people are going to be confused," he says sternly. "Tell them it's our way of welcoming Judal back, call it a Snow Day, tell them it's a new holiday we're thinking up. It's a fine time to sell hot treats on the streets, throw a blanket over the garden, wear all your clothing at once, that sort of thing. Make them excited, rather than afraid." He releases them, then slumps down next to Ja'far. "Will it work, do you think? They don't know snow here." They don't know how awful it is.

"Probably," Ja'far sighs, watching as Pisti loops an arm through Spartos's as well, hauling him off in kind. He folds his arms into his robes, looking at Sinbad with scarcely concealed amusement. "Shall I fish out your winter cloak? Ah, you-" he quickly, sharply redirects, swinging out a hand to smack it down onto Alibaba's trailing ponytail and pin it to the table. The yelp is satisfactory. "You've caused enough trouble today. What do you know about this?"

"Nothing!" Alibaba protests, reaching back to tug his hair free with a huff. "I swear, I didn't even know Aladdin was leaving Balbadd, or why."

Ja'far sighs, looking back to Sinbad with a shrug. "You should probably go and speak to Judal, then. He looked… less than pleased."

Sinbad nods gloomily. "I'll go speak to him," he agrees. "You can deal with...this," he adds, pointing to Alibaba with a rather disgusted wave of his hand, shuffling out of the room.

A second later, he pokes his head back in. "And yes, my winter cloak would be lovely."

Judal hates this.

His first and immediate stop is the kitchens, gloomily snatching up a basket of fruit that he nibbles on the entire way to his bedroom. Flopping down into the bed, he turns his face into a pillow, and immediately, angrily realizes that it doesn't smell of Aladdin, and probably hasn't for some time, considering their extended absence.

Eventually, half-way through the fruit, he makes his way to Sinbad's chambers. It's better than nothing, warm and at least smells like a person, and he throws himself down into the mattress, hauling a blanket up and over himself and biting down hard into a peach.

Maybe, he miserably thinks, the world is just telling me to hibernate until he gets back. If all of the snow is any indication, that would ring rather true.

Sinbad knows Judal is in his room long before he gets inside. Ice forms around the handle in an intricate little pattern, and the wind coming from under the door is even colder than the one coursing through all of Sindria at the moment. Hopefully Sharrkan and Pisti are jolly enough to inspire the whole country into a fit of snow celebration instead of terror at the unknown.

He steels himself-where is Ja'far and that winter cloak, anyway-and opens the door. As expected, Judal is curled up into a ball on his bed, moodily working his way through a peach. Sinbad shuts the door, sitting on the bed, but doesn't make a move to touch Judal. The last time, he'd pulled away (odd for Judal, but it had happened nonetheless). "I take it Aladdin is somewhere else?"

"He left."

Judal takes out his frustration on the peach, biting down harder than necessary and angrily sucking up the juice. "He probably won't show up for another five years, knowing him. What if I'm old and ugly by then?"

Really, Sinbad has been expecting this for some time. The boy does things like that, just walks out and in of their lives, oddly happy no matter how disconnected he sometimes seems from the rest of the world. When he was a child, it had been sort of adorable.

As an adult, it's more and more ethereal, and it sends a shiver up Sinbad's spine that has nothing to do with the snow.

"You'll never be ugly," he reassures the grumpy Magi, wiping up a trail of juice from his chin. "Look at Scheherezade, she hasn't aged a day in two hundred years. To someone like Aladdin, surely that's just like blinking."

"It's not like blinking to me!"

Judal rolls away, shoving his face down into the nearest pillow and yanking the blankets back up around himself. "I begged him to take me with him," he mumbles, huffing out a breath that fogs up quickly in the chill of the room. "He wouldn't."

Oh.

That sounds a lot less like Aladdin had gone on one of his wandering trips, and a lot more like he had...left.

Damn, there's no way to ask, is there?

Certainly there's no way to ask without making it worse, without making Judal cry and whine and sulk, so Sinbad doesn't try. He merely offers a shoulder, nudging a bit closer. "I'll keep you company, poor substitute that I am. I have missed you, you know."

Judal sniffs, eyes wet as he lifts his head. "I thought you'd be happy, having so much time to spend… with everyone else," he murmurs.

No one ever wants to spend time with me for very long. Am I really still that horrible?

It's an entirely too pessimistic thought, and he knows it isn't true, knows it. For the past two years, he had been all but fastened to Aladdin's hip, and it had been good.

That makes it hurt that much more, now that he isn't here.

Still, he doesn't want Sinbad to leave. Sinbad leaving would be that much worse, and he sucks in a steadying breath, willing the veritable blizzard of his rukh to calm and stop chilling the room to an utterly intolerable temperature.

If Sinbad leaves, it's that much worse, having someone's eyes on him from every angle.

Gratefully, Sinbad pulls some of the covers around himself, glad now that he keeps far more blankets than he really needs in the balmy heat of Sindrian springs. "Much better," he sighs. "Though doubtless the people will enjoy their new holiday."

He reaches out, stroking down Judal's back gently with one hand. "Just because I like spending time with other people doesn't mean I don't miss you. I've wanted to show you so much of what you've done, of how beautiful Sindria is now. And god, I've missed you in my bed."

Especially the last year or so, after Ja'far had seemingly exhausted his temporary urgency, and the frequency of having pale hair spilled across his pillow had faded to merely twice, three times as much as Sinbad had grown used to before their separation.

No matter how Sinbad's hands aren't Aladdin's-larger, broader, creased with callouses… they're still nice, and it's still Sinbad. There's a reason why he chose this man as his king, and a dozen reasons why he'd never, ever change that.

It calms him, slightly, to remember all of that. Judal's lower lip still juts in out in a deep pout, even as he lets his head tip forward to butt against Sinbad's shoulder. "I've missed you, too," he murmurs, and it isn't a lie. "I just…"

I'm afraid, I didn't want to come back here like this, I don't want to mess anything up again.

"Whatever it is," Sinbad says, because he'd have to be an idiot not to see that it's something, "it's fine. If you've made someone angry, or done something, or lost faith in me, whatever, we'll make it all right again."

He finds Judal's hand, and squeezes it. "You're my Magi, right? That doesn't change because you've been gone for a year. And Aladdin knows where to find you when he comes to his senses."

"… I think I made someone angry."

It's easier to talk about it when Sinbad says things like this. He wriggles his way forward, burying his face into Sinbad's shoulder as he exhales, twining their fingers together to squeeze tightly. "But that was two years ago," he mumbles, sounding so very tired and confused about it all. "And I didn't mean to."

Ah, good. That's definitely the kind of thing Sinbad can work with, a hell of a lot better than knowing that Judal had actually left because of him. "It's not the end of the world," he says, in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "Who is it? I make a lot of people angry, I'll add another to the list and we can deal with it together."

Judal's head shakes slowly as he doesn't bother to lift his head. "I don't think that will work."

"No? Must have been someone really powerful, then." Sinbad stretches out, finally starting to warm up a bit. "But I don't know if you've noticed, your chosen king rules the seven seas and a rapidly expanding Empire. Unless it's someone dead, I'm sure I can negotiate with them."

Worry still etches its way starkly over Judal's face. "… But it's Yunan."

Sinbad swallows hard. "Boy," he says, trying to keep his tone light, the memory of their first meeting still entirely fresh in his mind, "when you pick enemies, you don't mess around with the little fish, do you?"

"But I didn't mean to!" Judal desperately protests. "Like I said, it was two years ago, when I lent Ja'far my power so he could use Baal. Baal was okay with it, he seemed sort of amused, honestly, so I didn't think Yunan would get so mad, but…" He bites his lip, shaking his head. "He's the reason it failed. We would've been able to keep fighting and kill Kouen, I think, if he hadn't interrupted the flow of my rukh. It's still hard for me to feel Baal properly," he admits. "And he just… won't stop watching me now."

Sinbad wraps an arm around Judal's shoulder, consoling and comforting. "It's fine," he insists, even if the sheer memory of the power Yunan had held back then still seems as remote from someone like him as one of the stars. He's a different man, now, not that frightened child. "Would you like me to send him an official sanction, telling him to keep his hands and eyes and rukh off my Magi? I've done similar things with Scheherezade."

"… I think that will just make things worse." Judal tips his head forward, sighing into Sinbad's shoulder. "And I guess… I can't really blame him, anyway. No matter what Aladdin and I did, my black rukh just… won't go away."

Sinbad presses a kiss to Judal's hair, tightening his arm. "You know, the color of your rukh doesn't need to define your choices. Sometimes...knowing the darkness is there, inside of you, waiting...it helps you be better. You save that, you notice it, and when the time comes, you let it free, as long as you know how to rein it back in. It's not easy, but it doesn't mean you have to roll over and let it determine your choices, either. I don't."

Sinbad doesn't understand. Judal doesn't expect him to, but… it's still a stark reminder that he isn't Aladdin.

Tears prick into his eyes again, and Judal heaves as even of a breath as he can manage. "Okay." It's not the same when you're a Magi. You don't know what it's like, having it right there to toy with and tease and watch what it can do-

Sinbad gives him another one-armed hug, then asks casually, "Did Aladdin mention anything about Alibaba's plans before he left, speaking of the choices people make?"

Judal shakes his head, intensely grateful for the subject change all the same. "No. He didn't say anything about that." He sniffs, lifting a hand to thumb a tear away before it streaks down his face. "Why, did something happen? Balbadd seemed to be doing okay when I left…"

Sinbad snorts. "The little fool thinks he can run a country, suddenly. I might add, he didn't seem at all sure of that the thousands of times Aladdin and his people and I tried to convince him, but now that someone else stepped in and saved it for him all of a sudden he thinks it's easy." It's going to be some kind of a miracle if Ja'far keeps him from punching the ungrateful kid over the head.

"Oh." Judal blinks, tilting his head contemplatively. "It's probably because he and that girl are having sex, most kings are dumb when it comes to women."

Ah, he'd missed Judal's jealousy over his women. No, wait, that's the opposite of true. "I should have known, trying to impress a girl. God, how typical." He shakes his head, annoyed. "Well, would you like to sleep? Or investigate how the city has decided to spend the first ever snow holiday?"

"… Sorry." Judal winces as he looks out the window to see the snow still coming down, harder than ever. "I swear I didn't mean to do that." I don't mean to do a lot of things as of late. Ugh. "Is that an offer to take me to eat somewhere? I'm hungry…"

"Don't worry, it'll be good for the people to experience something like this. Some of them have lived in Sindria for their whole lives, they might never have heard of snow. And besides," he adds, tugging Judal to the door and hoping Ja'far has his winter cloak handy, "what better way to inform everyone that their beloved Magi is back?"

That makes him feel a bit better, and his lips twitch into a slow smile. "Okay. If it messes up anything really bad, you know I'll fix it, anyway." It does feel good to be useful in that sense for a change, and Judal exhales a steadying breath, trying to steel himself. "But first, food, lots of food."

Everything gets a little more bearable once the barmaid figures out that heating the cider sells it a lot faster. From then on, there's hot beer, hot cider, hot milk, hot everything they usually drink cold, and that's interesting enough that Sharrkan ignores the growing conviction that the cold isn't really that fun for a while.

He ignores it fine, drinking hot cider and laughing with friends (also shivering in the unaccustomed cold) until he sees Ja'far, calmly sipping his usual tea, wearing nothing more than usual and looking totally comfortable.

"How," he asks, only a bit worse for wear, "do you do that? You're not even sneezing!"

Ja'far blinks. "Why would I be?" he mildly replies, though his mind is swiftly brought to how Sinbad had already started sneezing, and it had nothing to do with brushing the dust out of his old furs before wrapping himself up in them as if he were braving the tundra. "I told you, this is nothing. If it actually does stick, it will only be a couple of inches at most, and it'll melt in the next day. In my country, we would end up with a foot of snow in an hour. Hinahoho's is worse."

Sharrkan shudders. "It just...what, lays there? Who makes it into a foot?"

The bland stare Ja'far offers him is as chilling as the weather. "Sharrkan, sometimes I wonder how you feed yourself."

Ah, Sharrkan recognizes that sort of look. That's the oh god I just realized I'm talking to someone from Heliohapt and how much better I am look, and on anyone else he'd probably feel inclined to punch the person. With Ja'far, he just shrugs, not really apologetic at all. "I make out okay with all ten fingers and all ten toes. Hey, is it okay if I, uh, ask you a favor?" Damn, probably should have done this yesterday. Or a month ago.

"If you don't put some proper clothes on, you'll freeze all of those off," Ja'far scolds, sighing as he downs another mouthful of hot tea. "And yes, go on, what is it?"

Sharrkan avoids countering with the fact that these are his only clothes. That's not exactly...the kind of argument he wants to get into, probably. "Thanks. And it's about my-hey, did I ever tell you much about my family? I mean, I know I did, but you have a tendency to tune out when I talk about Heliohapt-not you in particular, most people do-so I'm not sure if you were paying much attention, but did I ever tell you about my uncle's kid, the prince, the one who went off to be a healer?"

Ja'far stares at him for a long moment before simply tugging the keffiyeh off of his own head, removing the metal ring from it, and promptly wrapping it around Sharrkan's neck as a scarf. "Yes, I remember you telling me about him. What about him?"

Sharrkan tries, for all of a few seconds, not to snuggle down into the soft warm cloth. But...wow that feels good, and maybe it's a bit colder than he'd thought, and huh, he hadn't even realized his neck could get cold, it never has before. "Hey, thanks, that makes a huge difference. Well, uh, anyway, the thing is, my uncle sent him to Laem a couple years ago, but he didn't realize they'd made an alliance with Kou, so he's asked me if I could ask Sin to let the kid come and stay here for a while, you know, heal the sick, do something good for Sindria if he can, that kind of thing. So, uh, I told him I'd ask." Like two months ago but that's really not the issue here.

"Oh, I'm sure that will be fine." And here Ja'far thought it would be something ridiculous. "I will bring it up to Sin later, if you like. I can't imagine he would be adverse to it… ah, well," Ja'far amends with a grimace. "After the little stunt Alibaba pulled this morning, it might be difficult to get him out of Laem, but otherwise…"

"Oh, that won't be a problem!" Sharrkan says quickly, relieved. "Yeah, he's not in Laem anymore. But if you're sure it'll be fine, that's great, here, uh, let me introduce you to him! One sec, I'll go grab him!"

Ja'far twitches. He should have known. "Wait just a second," he flatly says, reaching out to snatch Sharrkan back by the wrist. "You brought a prisoner of war into Sindria before bringing this up to Sinbad directly?" It all makes sense now. "Small wonder your apprentice has such similar gall."

Sharrkan shrugs, sheepish. "Well, you said it would be okay, and, I mean, Sin does kind of collect people. And he didn't want to stay in Heliohapt, and I….forgot. Sorry."

Yes, this is definitely where Alibaba got the idea from. "… Don't forget next time," he grinds out, releasing Sharrkan with a long, drawn out sigh. "And if anything happens, it is your responsibility." Dear god, he can only hope this boy isn't anything like Sharrkan. Ja'far isn't sure he can handle another one.

Sharrkan rolls his eyes. "How bad can he be, he's just a healer," he points out. "They're not like they used to be in my grandfather's day, they just put bandages on cut fingers and stuff. You'll like him, he's boring."

"Him being 'just a healer' is not the problem." It's worthless trying to talk to Sharrkan about politics. "And… excuse me, what does that mean?"

"Uh...that he won't make as much trouble for you as the rest of us do?" Sharrkan says weakly. "Look, here, he brought a friend, just-" He escapes Ja'far's glare to flee to the back of the tavern, grabbing the two younger men by the arm and hauling them over. "Ja'far, this is my cousin Sphintus, and his friend Tristan. Guys, this is Ja'far, General of Sindria."

Titus bows low, the kind he's practiced for meeting important people as Tristan the Wandering Magician rather than his true status. "It's an honor, milord."

Ja'far takes one look at 'Tristan' and tries not to spit out his tea.

For a split second, he thought it was Scheherazade-but no, the boy is taller, the hair is different, and even if his face is identical, the body is still … slightly less feminine. "… An honor indeed," he manages, shaking off the shock of that to look at Sphintus instead. God, but the royal family all do look so similar. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sphintus. I do hope your stay in Sindria will be a pleasant one."

Sphintus bows low, and Ja'far tries to think of a time that Sharrkan ever had such decent manners. "Thank you very much for allowing me into your country. If there is anything I can do while I am here, please, put me to the task."

"… You're right, I do like him. Sharrkan, did your family neglect you and your manners deliberately?"

Sharrkan glares a little. No matter how he'd told Sphintus to be on his best behavior, he hadn't meant that the kid should show him up or anything. "Well, I just...I wasn't supposed to be king or anything, so…" He rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna go have another hot beer with Pisti."

"More like my uncle gave up on you after awhile," is Sphintus's low mutter. "All you cared about was your sword."

Sharrkan barks out a laugh. "Unlike the son who cared about his textbooks," he jeers, poking Sphintus in the side. "What did Uncle say when you told him you wanted to be a magician again? Damn, I can't remember, it was hilarious."

"Better than what he said when you went on and on about traveling the world to be a famous swordsman!" Sphintus snaps back, smacking Sharrkan's hand away. "From what I've heard, all you've been doing is flaying open extremely large fish!"

Ja'far should have known. He exhales a long sigh, drinks more tea, and avoids the fireworks with a crook of his finger towards Titus. "How are your wife and child, pray tell?"

Titus gulps. He can hear Sphintus going at it with his cousin-just like when they'd visited Heliohapt after all, with Sphintus being defensive and his relatives teasing him mercilessly for having the gall to care about learning-and keeps his voice low, so as not to attract any unwanted attention. "I'd heard you were quite an astute man," he says quietly, inclining his head. There'd been no chance of keeping the ruse up around someone who knows his mother, he'd known. "They're quite well, and my wife sends her regards to your king. You must understand, traveling like this is far safer in the current political climate." Also my Lady isn't best pleased with my...extended absence.

"I can assure you that we will be sure to use great discretion." This is useful, far more so than any healer, and it will certainly soothe away any bad mood Sinbad will be inclined to have upon hearing how they've apparently taken in a prisoner of war. Direct access to Scheherazade's empire through her first magician? Very good indeed. "Of course, you, too, are welcome to stay as long as you like. I will have a set of rooms prepared for you and your friend."

Titus relaxes immediately, breaking into a sweet, genuine smile. "Thank you for your courtesy, milord. I truly appreciate it. As Sphintus has offered his services, I so offer my own, should any need arise for them to be of use. I beg of you to consider me an asset, milord." Odd, to be speaking so deferentially, but he's practiced with Sphintus on the way from Heliohapt. There hadn't been much to do, those long hot days on horses, and it had been a way to pass the time.

"… Just Ja'far is fine," is the eventual reply, low and amused. "But thank you, I am sure Sinbad will be happy to hear of this as well. Please enjoy yourself why you are here, though, after so much travel."

"Ahh, forget it! I'm not staying here another moment if I have to deal with him! To hell with my father, I'll swim back to Heliohapt!"

It's definitely going to be one of those weeks.

Titus's smile falters. "Um, would it be too much to ask for rooms at some sort of distance from my friend's cousin? He...doesn't get along terribly well with his family."

Sharrkan, in complete disregard of his cousin's protests, drags him around the bar. "Pisti, Masrur, look, it's the cousin I was telling you about! Hey, where's Yamu, she'll like this guy."

"I will see what can be done," Ja'far deadpans, and takes another, calming sip of tea. "Sharrkan!" he barks out. "Stop tormenting the boy and show him and his friend properly to the guest quarters in the palace! He's your family, show a bit of pride in showing them around Sindria respectfully."

Sharrkan rolls his eyes so hard it's nearly audible, clapping a forcibly amicable arm around Sphintus's shoulders. "Yeah yeah, bring your girlfriend. I'll show you the ocean and the brothels and the really fun parts Ja'far doesn't like guests to know about."

"He's not my girlfriend," Sphintus hisses out, attempting to wriggle his way free as Kukulcan hisses lowly. "And I don't want you to show me anything! I'll drown you in the damn ocean, you ass!"

Sharrkan's eyebrows shoot up. "That's a man? Damn fine ass on him!"

Sphintus doesn't really think before he has his hands around Sharrkan's throat. Ja'far sighs, and turns a blind eye.

"Was...a...compli...ment…" Sharrkan chokes out, then jams his knee up into his cousin's gut, grabbing him in a headlock the likes of which would only be seen in a gladiator's arena in Laem or a family party in Heliohapt.

"Who said," Sphintus wheezes, just barely stopping Kukulcan from sinking his fangs into Sharrkan and immediately wishing he hadn't, "you could look at him like that?! I'll kill you-"

Sphintus had warned Titus about Heliohapt family fights, and Sphintus's mother (bless her adorable soul) had warned him that her son and Sharrkan got on like a cat and an armed mouse, but seeing the sudden striking violence of it, seeing Sharrkan lash out a fist with enough force to send the other man flying back, is just a bit too much for Titus.

A flash of light, and he draws his wand, a magic bubble surrounding both men, floating them up and away from each other in a gentle drift.

"So you are quite a capable magician," Ja'far says, head tilting to the side. "How… fortunate of Sphintus, to have such a companion."

"Ti-Tristan!" Sphintus snaps, thoroughly flustered now and promptly smacking his own staff against the bubble to pop it and land on his feet. He leaves Sharrkan, though, the dumbass, and huffs as he brushes himself off. "You didn't need to interfere, I was fine-"

The tavern door swings open, letting in a brief whirlwind and flurry of snow before banging shut again. "Your great and powerful Magi has returned!" Judal announces, half-buried underneath the heavy fur of Sinbad's cloak from where he presses himself into the man's side. Maintaining a slightly better mood is easy enough upon seeing how Sindria has prospered even in his absence, and the promise of alcohol and food and Sinbad makes it even better. "Ah! You!" he announces abruptly, gaze swinging towards Titus. "What was your name… Tits or something-what are you doing here? And with your poor boyfriend, too."

Titus goes pale. This isn't part of the plan, Judal is supposed to be in Balbadd, the information had been sound, and oh god that man behind Judal must be, could only be, could be no one other than…

Yeah, this disguise is pretty rubbish.

"Um," he says, in a very small voice, trying to trust to Judal's obviously poor memory and shooting a pleading look at Ja'far, "it's Tristan, actually, and-"

Sharrkan pops the bubble with a slam of his heel, hitting the ground to round on Judal. "What the hell did you say about my cousin, you little bastard?"

"Oooh, so he is your cousin, I couldn't remember. You all look the same, anyway," Judal mutters, his gaze flickering back to Titus. "Tristan-no, that definitely wasn't it. How's the old hag, anyway?"

"Tristan," Ja'far interrupts, attracting Judal's attention immediately with the sharpness of his tone, "is staying here with Sharrkan's cousin, Sphintus. I trust you'll show them a great deal of hospitality, Judal."

Judal squints, put out and annoyed for all of a second before just dropping it. "Whatever." He tilts his head back to look up at Sinbad. "I'm hungry."

Within a second, a table is cleared, and a couple tavern regulars are dumped out of the nicest seats in the establishment, which are promptly cleaned, fluffed, and placed in front of the king and his Magi. Sinbad sits, an arm around Judal, and calls, "The finest meal in the house for the shining star of Sindria!"

A cheer goes up, echoing off the tavern walls so much they shake, and Sinbad grins. It does him good to hear the people cheering for Judal, makes him proud, even as he raises an eyebrow at the newcomers. Oh well, doubtless I'll hear about it later.

One solidly large meal later, and Judal feels less like he wants to kill everyone and a bit more like dozing off into the warmth of Sinbad's chest, effectively folded into the heavy fur of his cloak. No matter the talking and laughter around them, warm beer has done wonders to dull his senses, and for the first time since Aladdin left, he thinks that maybe, maybe he can stand the wait until he returns.

He squirms, settling himself down to straddle one of Sinbad's thighs as his arms wind around his king's neck, behaving himself long enough for Ja'far to lowly explain the 'situation' surrounding Titus-he knew that was that brat's name-and Sphintus to Sinbad. Boring and stupid, all of it. Judal didn't miss hearing about politics, that's for sure. "You're warm," he says on a sigh into Sinbad's ear. Ah, yes. He might be a little drunk, not that it changes much. A hand lazily strokes its way down Sinbad's stomach. "And really comfortable. Hide me in your cloak, I'll rub you off right here."

Sinbad looks down, eyes lidding at the more-than-welcome sight of Judal squirming around under his cloak, writhing like a cat, and his pulse speeds up. One hand comes up to caress dark hair, and he murmurs under his breath, "I don't know how I made it so long without you."

He flips his cloak over them both, mischief sparkling in his eyes at the sheer wrongness of it all, the fact that they could easily run home instead of being obscene in the middle of a tavern-but what the hell, he's the king, and Judal his Magi, and what's the point of having a Magi if they aren't going to raise shields and make it snow in the desert and give covert handjobs under tavern tables? "Don't move around too much, let's not be obvious."

Judal grins, hooking his chin over Sinbad's shoulder with a shuddering little sigh brushing over his neck. "God forbid if we were obvious," he wickedly purrs, fingers plucking at Sinbad's robes, his palm sliding beneath them to drag over the line of Sinbad's cock. His own thighs squeeze together where he straddles Sinbad's leg, his breath a bit too fast. "I could slide under the table instead. Would you rather shove my face between your legs?"

Sinbad stifles a groan. "You," he murmurs, shifting a bit in his chair, spreading his knees farther apart to give his Magi room, "are going to get me arrested in my own country." Not like it's the first time or anything, but still. He has a feeling Ja'far won't bail him out this time, and Masrur and Sharrkan are already too drunk to be some help to him.

Who cares, life is short. "Go on, then. Show me why I was right to miss you so much."

It only takes but a moment for Judal to slink his way down, the heavy fall of Sinbad's cloak a decent enough cover as he nuzzles up between his king's legs. He paws his way up, mouthing the hardening line of Sinbad's cock beneath fabric before he simply can't wait any more, a needy, ragged little sound escaping through his nose as Judal pulls down cloth and wraps his fingers around him.

The first taste of Sinbad on his tongue after so long is enough to make his eyes roll back, and Judal stifles his own groan by letting the head of that thick, heavy cock slide between his lips for a hard, messy suck. He reaches up a hand, grabbing for Sinbad's and guiding it to his hair, wanting the press of it, his demanding insistence.

"Oh." Sinbad's breath is a murmur, low and husky, fingers curling automatically into Judal's hair at the crown of his head. No one does this like Judal, no one loves it like Judal, and that's enough to make Sinbad wonder five seconds in if he's got the kind of self-control he's going to need to pull this off.

His hand tightens, and he guides Judal firmly down, unable to move his hips for fear of being seen, moving Judal's head instead. "That's good, good boy, you know how to take care of me."

Judal's eyes flutter, and he wishes Sinbad could see. He knows how good he looks sucking cock, and he'd gladly put on a show to better remind Sinbad why the man certainly should miss him.

Instead, he puts himself to work, groaning low in his throat at the press of Sinbad's hand and yielding to it, working his mouth down every thick inch of his cock and exhaling hot and desperate through his nose as he works his throat to swallow all of him. His jaw aches, the stretch of his lips and the spasm of his throat a welcome struggle, and his nose bumps against the hard, flat plane of Sinbad's belly before his cheeks hollow, drawing himself back with a hard, wet suck, sloppily lapping at the head of his cock when he pulls back far enough.

Sinbad can imagine all too well what Judal looks like right now. He's always had a talent not just for being good in bed, but for looking sinful and yet oddly innocent at the same time, a thorough, wanton enjoyment on a lovely face that just makes desecrating it, forcing it into new heights of pleasure, an absolute joy.

At least Sinbad can imagine it, and does, with every sloppy, needy lick to his cock, every delighted suck, and he yanks Judal down again and again, shoving his cock into the younger man's mouth, face hot as he looks around, wondering how many of the patrons are sober and observant enough to notice that the king is being sucked off in public by his Magi.

The thought really shouldn't make him so much harder.

It's a pity, really, that he can't have Sinbad just hold him down and rut against his face in a situation like this. It makes Judal that much more eager to please, though, that much more pliant when Sinbad's hands yank at his hair to pull him up and down on his cock, and his eyes roll back when he's shoved down entirely, choking on every inch of him as his hands slide up to knead into Sinbad's thighs.

His breath is ragged and hot when he's pulled off again, and Judal strains against the hold for a moment to suck just the head back into his mouth, tongue toying with the tip of it, lapping and tasting and god, it's hard not to moan when Sinbad is leaking all over his tongue. "Too bad you can't come all over my face like this," he breathes. "Or maybe you should, anyway-you'd probably like parading me around like that, all flushed and dripping in your seed."

Sinbad has to wonder why he ever thought this was a good idea.

Ja'far is probably right, and he thinks far too much with the part of him currently rubbing against Judal's sensual tongue, dripping steadily as Sinbad's breath hitches as the constant stream of perversions coming from Judal's mouth.

The idea has merit, when he's so aroused, but he grabs Judal harder, shoving his head down, a grip like iron as he growls, "Tonight you swallow everything I give you, whore, and beg me for more." And later, he'll hold Judal down in the privacy of his room and really mark him, show him who owns him.

Judal chokes, swallowing hard, and the whine that manages to escape, muffled and ragged, is proof enough that he would beg for more if he could. Please please please let me taste you, all of you, I want it. His moans are muffled as he sucks hard, tongue wriggling with every twitch of Sinbad against his tongue, and god, he's starting to remember very, very clearly some of the things he's missed for the past year.

By this point he's probably obvious, face flushed, eyes half-closed, breathing heavy as his hand moves oh so obviously below that thick fur cloak, but ah, Sinbad is far past the point of caring. He holds Judal down, and hard, muscles straining with the effort of not thrusting up, not making a sound, and he spills hard down Judal's throat, pulling back just enough for him to taste it. "All of it," he murmurs, as quietly as he can as his heart races from the danger of it all. "Don't miss a drop."

That's an order Judal will always eagerly follow, and gratefully. He's shuddering as he swallows it all, sucking and licking at what does manage to try and escape down his chin, and he sinks backwards to really breathe a moment later, panting shallowly he butts his head up against Sinbad's hand.

It takes a second before Judal can think to carefully tuck Sinbad back into his robes, his touch lingering as he slowly slithers his way back up, tentatively poking his head out, face still flushed. "Do you think anyone noticed?"

Sinbad darts a look around, then shrugs. "No one's being obvious about it if they did, and I can't imagine it would start any rumor that doesn't already exist." He nuzzles into Judal's hair, pulling him back up to sit on Sinbad's lap. "The people know well enough to let their king have his fun."

"They better," Judal sighs, burying his face into Sinbad's neck as he winds his arms about his shoulders. "It would almost be more fun if they did notice, don't you think?" he breathes, catching an earring between his teeth to gently tug. "Then they could be jealous."

Sinbad sighs, stroking a hand down Judal's spine. "You're definitely drawing attention now. Careful, you'll be exposed to a whole new side of rabid females. Ja'far can warn you about it."

Judal pouts, slumping forward with a grumbling sigh. "They can just join in. That's what Aladdin and I did."

Sinbad's eyes flash. "Don't tease me with something like that unless you mean it." Judal had always been less inclined to such amusements than himself, though certainly more than Ja'far who, as far as Sinbad knows, has never taken a woman to bed in his life.

"I mean it well enough, but… right now, I don't really feel like sharing." Judal grins, giving Sinbad's hair a light tug. "Should I make it snow tomorrow, too, so I can keep you all day?"

Sinbad turns his head, catching Judal's hand to nibble on his fingers. "How about," he suggests, "you make the weather nice tomorrow so all the crops don't freeze, and I take the day off anyway?"

"Hmm. Deal. Though I sort of like it when you're pathetically shivering," Judal muses, fingers slowly curling.

Sinbad narrows his eyes. "I'm not pathetic...I just don't like the cold," he grumbles. "I live in the south for a reason." He nips at a fingertip, then pulls Judal back deeper onto his lap, hooking his chin over Judal's shoulder. "Look how happy they are," he murmurs. "They'd all be Kou slaves if not for you."

"It looked pretty pathetic to me." Nevertheless, he wriggles his way back, settling against Sinbad's chest with a sigh. "More like you, you mean. I messed up."

"Messed up? By keeping Kouen occupied until I could come home? By raising enough of the rukh to feed our rapidly expanding population, or raising the island to give us space to do so?" He presses a kiss to Judal's ear. "Hardly."

"… I left in the first place and killed his brothers and ruined your plans." Judal's head tips to the side, knocking lightly against Sinbad's. "I messed up."

Sinbad shrugs. "I mess up all the time. Sometimes it works better than what I meant to do. Let it go, the people are happy, you should be too."

Judal opens his mouth to argue again before simply shutting it, grumbling something about stupid kings underneath his breath, and yanking Sinbad's cloak tighter around himself. "I'm happy enough."

As happy as you can be without Aladdin, you mean, Sinbad thinks, and can't help but feel a bit of pity. He'd seen them together, felt the magic they created; it must be a lonely life, being a Magi, knowing that there are only three others in the world that understand and actually finding peace with one of them. He holds Judal more tightly, even as the warmth starts to get a bit intolerable. "Good. Let me make you happier still. In the meantime, what can you tell me about our visitors over there?" he asks, nodding at Sharrkan and the newcomer in some sort of drinking contest.

Relaxing, Judal's head tilts as he glances over to the two in question. "Ah, poster child for poverty and his woman. I think his name is Sphintus or something… anyway, he's a healer of some sort, I guess he's decent enough, and the blond… Scheherazade's brat, and her First Magician. I'm pretty sure he thinks women are monsters from the deep."

Sinbad's eyes sharpen. Now that he's looking, he can see the uncanny resemblance; slightly more masculine, taller, and the hair is a bit different, but by god they're almost eerily alike. Even the earring is the same-hell, even the posture is the same. "So, Scheherezade's little prize wandered into Sindria, hmm? Don't torment him, I want to keep him for a while."

"I'll be good, he owes me, anyway," Judal sighs, reclining back with his head lolling over Sinbad's shoulder. "I could be a jerk and tweak the shields a bit so he can't leave even if he wanted to for awhile…"

Sinbad pauses for a moment, thinking. "If you do and he tries to leave, will he be able to tell that they're keyed to him specifically? I don't want to start a war with Laem before I have to."

Judal snorts. "Please. As if I'm that sloppy. He's a good magician, but he isn't a Magi."

"Do it. That'll at least keep him from sneaking out unexpectedly. How powerful is he, by the way? You rarely give out praise to magicians."

"He's good," Judal begrudgingly allows. "Another water magician. Aladdin told me stories about his spars with him, and he's been trained by a Magi his whole life, so… he knows what he is doing. Also, he's got a hell of a quick fuse, especially when it comes to his pet."

"His pet? The snake?"

"More like the one from Heliohapt wearing the snake."

Sinbad pauses, drawing back and running his fingers contemplatively through Judal's hair. "Are you saying," he asks, slowly, "that the royal prince of Heliohapt and the first magician of Laem have not only walked into Sindria with plans to stay, they're illicit lovers?" It's his birthday, it must be.

"I meant it when I said that the blond was Heliohapt's woman," Judal snickers, nuzzling his head back into Sinbad's touch. "There's a reason why I had to help get Kougyoku pregnant."

Oh, Scheherezade, you made such a foolish mistake by collaborating with Alibaba and then allowing this boy into my country. "Keep them both here. Be on your best behavior, at least for now. How quick a fuse?"

"Threaten his boytoy, draws his wand. Insult him well enough, draws his wand. He's a quick shot, too," Judal sighs, rolling his eyes. "You could take him easily enough, don't worry. But he's still annoying."

Sinbad rolls his eyes. "Of course I could take him, I haven't been worried about a magician's skills against my own since I was a teenager. What do you know about Scheherezade and Kougyoku's feelings towards him?"

"Kougyoku thinks he's cute and likes when he buys her things. I'm fairly certain he does her hair and that's the extent of that," Judal says with a roll of his eyes. "Scheherazade… I think she's possessive of him. That's about it." He pauses, turning his head to look at Sinbad with a frown. "He's not like Yamuraiha, if that's what you're thinking. Think me, even without infinite magoi."

That gives Sinbad a moment of pause. He cocks his head, frowning. "Are you saying he's better than Yamu?" Damn Scheherezade anyway. Are Magi even allowed to breed?

Judal nods. "Yes. He aims to kill, every single time. Pretty sure he wanted to kill me with a teapot once."

Sinbad's eyes narrow. "Why exactly haven't you been breeding me unstoppable killing magicians? Is this a skill all Magi have, because I know for a fact Sindria has plenty of women who don't mind giving birth to bastards."

"… Because it's a really, really stupid idea and I've already been yelled at once by Yunan for apparently messing with Solomon's laws," Judal huffs. "Magic isn't really something that's passed on, necessarily. Kouen's daughter is a Goi brat, remember; I think Magi just have a higher chance of passing it on or something. Scheherabitch got lucky."

"Ah, well," Sinbad sighs, abandoning the idea with a wave of his hand. "Can't blame me for trying. Besides, it will probably be more fun to play with this one rather than wait many years to make our own, hmm?"

"… Why do you want to play with him so badly?" Judal presses. "Did something happen with Laem? You're not starting war if Kougyoku is there, I want her."

"I'm not starting anything, I just don't trust Scheherezade when she makes a stupid move. It's not like her," Sinbad muses. What could have possessed the woman? Alibaba can't be trusted to govern a country, he's given one away more times than a hermit crab abandons its shell.

"Mmn, well," Judal sighs, stretching sideways over Sinbad's lap, "if you keep that one, she'll be a little more malleable. She's kind of a control freak about what he does. In fact, I'm amazed she allowed him to come here at all, if you catch my drift."

"That's two stupid moves. Hmm." Sinbad pushes the information to the back of his mind, letting it simmer and resolve while he thinks about other things. Hopefully by the time he gets a chance to talk about it with Ja'far, it will have changed into something clear and brilliant. "Well, it will be what it will be. Have you had enough of tavern life for the evening? I think they're having a snowman-building competition with the children in the street."

Judal makes a face. "Does that mean I have to go and look at them or something? Because I'd rather go back and warm your bed."

"Mm, we should stop off and make an appearance, but…" He grins, and tweaks Judal's nose. "You go get the bed warmed up. I'll put in the obligatory appearances for the both of us."

"Let Ja'far judge in my absence, he likes kids," Judal sighs, nipping lightly at Sinbad's fingers before sliding out of his lap in an easy bounce. "But don't take too long. I'll be waiting for you, my king."

Sinbad's eyes follow Judal out the door-many eyes do, but Sinbad revels in knowing he's the only one with that lovely creature in his bed tonight. He casts a look around, entirely unsurprised to find Ja'far in a corner, and sidles into the chair. "Busy day."

"Understatement," is the dry retort, and Ja'far takes a sip of probably his tenth cup of hot tea, this time laced with just a bit of rum. "Did Judal extrapolate enough on our guests for you, or shall I fill in a few blanks from what I have been able to observe?"

"Feel free. There are many blank spots in my knowledge right now, and I'd like them filled in." It's difficult not to be obvious about watching the pair-good lord, did they really think they were keeping concealed? How did Scheherezade manage to keep the boy alive, as stringent as Laem is about such things?

"From what I can gather, they've already been to Heliohapt and back-the prince is actually somewhat renowned there nowadays, a feat for their royal family, all things considered," Ja'far offers with a shake of his head. "Titus, on the other hand… honestly, I don't think he is here to impose any sort of threat. The moment I extended a bit of kindness towards him, he all but hid behind me. I don't think," he wryly adds, "Scheherazade quite knows that he's here."

Sinbad nods slowly. "Judal wasn't stingy with praise about the boy's abilities. Set up some kind of test, whether in training or in earnest. I want to see for myself."

Ja'far nods. "Very well. Aladdin mentioned him to me before, I believe. I doubt Judal was exaggerating, from the things he told me."

"Be careful, I heard he has something of a short fuse and enjoys the kill. What about the other, the Healer? Think he's been trained in the best of family traditions?"

"To retell Aladdin's stories again-I believe he was sent away from Heliohapt to avoid the tradition of medical magicians being used as assassins. Considering the uneasy politics there, however… I am not sure we should bet on that." Ja'far takes another sip of tea. "Honestly, though, I feel no malice from him or Scheherazade's magician. And Sharrkan, in spite of all things, does tend to be a good judge of character. The most he shouts at his cousin about is taking to his books too often." His eyes slide sideways. "How long are you thinking of entertaining them?"

Sinbad raises an eyebrow. "Really, Ja'far, when have you known me to throw an advantage that hurls itself into my lap?" A rather apt metaphor on all sides, he feels, and stretches slowly. "If two crown princes from unstable nations wish to be my guests, well, it would be churlish of me to deny them, wouldn't it?"

A thought occurs to him. "Make the magician welcome. He must feel very...unwelcome in Laem. You know what I mean."

"You want me to mother him." It's a rather put out deadpan. "And tell him his life choices are acceptable, and that Sindria will always welcome him with open arms. Anything else?"

"If I said you know what I mean," Sinbad says patiently, "that rather implies that it's obvious enough not to be said aloud." He claps Ja'far on the shoulder, standing. "I'll leave him to you, then."

"… Of course." Ja'far swats his hand away with a snort. "I am always happy to serve, Your Majesty. Is there anything else?"

Sinbad pauses. "There's a snowman competition that needs a judge. Probably a few of them, if I know Sindrian children."

Ja'far heaves a sigh at that, setting down his teacup. "Then I suppose I know what I am doing before I retire."

"Don't look at me like that, you're happiest when you're busy." With a last, affectionate pat on the cheek, Sinbad waves a fond farewell to the tavern, drinking in salutes to his health, before hurrying back to his palace and waiting bedmate.

Judal leaves his jewelry on.

That's about it.

He takes care to draw the windows closed once he steps inside, a flick of a flame to candle lighting up the dim room and an absent blaze of heat magic taking off the chill before he wriggles from his clothes and collapses into the bed. Ah, his hair, right. He plucks at the tie, dragging his fingers through the mass of it to mostly loosen it as he twists onto his side. How long has it been since he was properly in Sinbad's bed? All the better to do it right, and enjoy himself.

Fur cloak or no fur cloak, Sinbad is chilled to the bone by the time he gets back to the palace, the thought of a warm body curled around him more enticing even than usual. He hurries through the drafty corridors, breathing a sigh of relief when his room is warm, then sucking that breath in at the sight.

Slowly, he lets the cloak fall to the floor, advancing on the bed one slow step at a time. "Tell me," he murmurs, loosening his other clothes, eyes tracking down that familiar sinuous body, "did you miss my bed?"

Judal's lips twitch up into a slow smirk, and he pushes himself up onto his hands, stretching one out once Sinbad is near enough to be grabbed. "Only a little," is his low tease. "It's been so long. Maybe you should remind me why I ever shared it in the first place, hmm?"

Judal, Sinbad remembers fondly, likes it when he's a bit rough.

He lets Judal pull him down, then grabs his wrists, holding them above his head in a hard grip, leaning down to give his lips the softest brush of his own before fixing them to his neck. Not too rough, he reminds himself. That was part of why Judal had left, most likely. "I think you remember why." Holding his wrists with one hand, Sinbad trails a hand down, tweaking a nipple. "I want you to put them back in."

Immediately, Judal's breath hitches, his muscles bunching and chest heaving just with the very idea. "I… I don't really have them with me." A little shudder follows his next thought, and his hips jut up, rubbing his suddenly very, very hard cock against Sinbad's thigh. "And I think… they closed back up, awhile ago."

Sinbad looks sternly down at him, the picture of kingly disapproval, even as his eyes burn dark. "Well, then. I think we both know what we'll have to do." He drags a leg up between Judal's, pressing hard down against the younger man's dripping cock. "Don't we?"

God, he very much remembers why he spent as much time as possible in Sinbad's bed.

There really is something about being ordered around, shoved down and held down by this man, and Judal's groans are already breathy little things as he lurches up, wriggling against the friction Sinbad's leg provides. "If it would make you happy," he pants out, twisting beneath the hold on his arms, "then please-"

"If you're going to go around draped in jewelry and finery," Sinbad insists, giving a slow rub, then a long tug to the nipple in question, "you should at least be attired to my tastes. Don't you think? My good, obedient Magi," he breathes, rubbing down hard even as he pinches.

Judal moans, arching his back with an eager squirm, whining with every pinch and tug that goes straight to his cock. It's easy to remember what it would feel like with the piercings there-that much easier for Sinbad to hook a finger into them and slowly pull until Judal could do nothing but writhe-and oh, how he regrets ever taking them out.

"Whatever…. whatever my king wants," he huffs out, face flushing hot as already, the slightest grind of his cock upward is nearly too much. Coming just from Sinbad's fingers on his nipples-that would be a new one. "B-bite," Judal lowly whimpers. "Please."

Maybe Sinbad is the obedient one after all.

He bends, taking the sore red nipple in his teeth and nibbling, fingers traveling to pinch the other one, tugging a bit harder, knowing Judal loves it. "Would you come," he asks breathlessly, pinching too hard, rubbing his thumb down, "on my leg like a dog, just from being played with like this? What a slut that would make you, my pretty Magi."

He leans down hard, dragging his thigh over Judal's cock, pressing and rubbing even as he bites. "Come on, be a good girl for me," he murmurs.

Oh, god.

That's not even fair. It's just not fair the way his mind effectively clicks off with those words, and it was already well on its way, with every tug and bite that made him squirm and sob. Judal can only manage a stuttering, ragged gasp as he comes hard, his legs splaying and toes curling into the bed as he spills against Sinbad's thigh, grinding and rolling his hips with sharp, ragged little breaths escaping his lungs.

"Just… j-just a slut for you, no one else," Judal whines, eyes rolling into the back of his head as just saying it makes his cock twitch again far, far too soon. "I… let me be good for you, I promise I will, please, Daddy-"

Sinbad raises his eyebrows, amused, aroused, intrigued all at once. "Oh," he says softly, sliding his hand down to drag through the sticky mess. That's a button he hadn't known Judal had. "How am I only discovering this now? No matter."

He flips Judal over onto his belly, both hands coming up to spread his ass, squeezing and kneading. "You've put on some meat back here, good. Spread your legs, sweetheart," he says, talking like he does to the pretty girls who flock around him, and Judal will know that. "Let me see what you're saving for me."

Judal could cry from how fast his body lights up with arousal again, and he thinks he might be, from how wet the sheets suddenly are beneath his face. He groans, burying his face into them all the same, skin burning as he shakily shoves himself up onto his knees, obediently spreading his legs wider. "Please." It's something akin to a mewl, breaking and hitching as he shivers. "Please, fuck me."

"Now, now," Sinbad chides, slicking his hand from a pot by the bed, sliding a thumb over Judal's hole. "I'm going to think you're not a very good girl, begging to be fucked like that."

This makes him far hotter than it should, cock aching as he presses it against the back of a smooth thigh. "You make me want to teach you a lesson, pretty thing."

Judal writhes, huffing out a too-hot breath as his hips twist backwards, trying his best to urge Sinbad to do more. "I'll be good for you," he pleads, his hands kneading into the sheets as he twists his head around to look over his shoulder. "Really good, j-just put it in-"

Sinbad moves, pressing his cock up into the cleft of Judal's ass, hands digging into the cheeks, kneading, squeezing. "There's a good girl. Now..."

He leans down, nipping at Judal's earlobe, and rasps, "Call me what you did before. Do that, ask nicely, and I'll give you what you want."

Oh.

God, he likes Sinbad's hands on him like this. He hadn't expected the man to appreciate all the sweets Aladdin had stuffed down his throat over the past year, how it made him just a little bit softer around the edges, less ribby and far less bony. It seems to be the opposite after all, with Sinbad's hands on him even more than usual. Judal shudders, rocking backwards with an arch of his back, sliding his ass back against Sinbad's cock, biting his lip at the heavy, hard pulse of it, the way it presses against him, so thick that he knows he'll be squirming with every inch that stuffs him so, so full.

He wants it.

"Please, Daddy." His face burns, and Judal's breath hiccups as he pushes his face down into the sheets, whimpering. "P…please… I'm being a good girl, aren't I? So put it in…"

Sinbad bites his lip. Hearing things like that, it's hard to make sure he'll last long enough to even get inside.

"A very good girl," he says soothingly. He grips his cock with one hand, guiding it down, just enough to press against that sweet little hole then push slowly inside. "Hmm...I think it's...been a while...since you took someone as big as me," he breathes, swallowing hard as Judal clenches down around him. His hands come up to Judal's waist, gripping the softness there, filling his hands as he pulls the younger man slowly, inexorably back. "I know you're eager for it, though, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Judal can't breathe.

There's no helping it, with every slick inch that sinks into him, and he moans, low and breathy, his body content to twitch and squirm and rock back against Sinbad's cock. No one fills him up quite like Sinbad does, so long and thick that he's never quite sure that he can take all of it, not until Sinbad is buried entirely inside of him and he is left whining and panting for more.

Now is no different. His body spasms, muscles drawn tight no matter how he tries for a few deep, heaving breaths, and Judal sinks into the bed with something like a sob, his legs wobbling as he tries to spread them further to somehow better take him. "Need it," he groans, twisting the sheets beneath his fingers until he's white-knuckled. "N-need all of you inside of me, fucking me hard, no one fucks me like you do, Daddy-"

Sinbad's hand slides underneath, sliding up a toned abdomen, up to pinch and tease at his nipples again no matter how they must already be sore. "Don't worry, you'll have it. All you can handle and more."

He pinches, and nips at Judal's neck, rolling his hips forward for a long, thorough stroke, filling him up, and god, it is a bit of an effort to get it all inside. "Relax, darling, you're so tight I can hardly get my cock in you, and I know how much a good girl like you wants all of her Daddy's cock."

How long has it been since he's been wound this tight? Judal simply moans, a long, shuddery thing as he tries to breathe, tries to relax to better let Sinbad fuck him. It's hard when everything aches and quivers and god, Sinbad's fingers on his nipples again just make him thrash, nuzzling his face down into the sheets as he humps back against the older man's cock with a broken, breathy sound as he really feels just how stuffed full he is. "Love it when you call me things like that," he admits with a little whimper. "Please, just…"

"I can tell."

Sinbad's mouth is dry, and he sucks hard at Judal's neck, digging his knees in to the bed to find a hard, slow rhythm, each long thrust slapping their hips together. "You like it when I tell you you're my good little girl, hmm? Pretty thing, my concubine, I'll keep you naked and on your knees all day," he groans, and gives a last hard pinch to Judal's nipples before sliding his hands down around his waist.

"I can feel my cock in here," he breathes. "You take it so perfectly, like that's all a pretty girl like you is made to do."

He's not going to last much longer at this rate, and as riled as he is, that's probably a mercy.

Judal swallows hard, gulping air in fast and desperate as those words twist through him like wildfire. Every thrust is maddening-so long and so deep that his mouth falls open, and he whines, wriggling back until he can't anymore, until Sinbad slides so deeply into him each time that he feels like his knees will buckle.

He's certain they will, at this rate. Every squeeze of Sinbad's hands makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, every little praise makes his breath come that much faster, and his own cock is so hard again that just the idea of being shoved to his knees, collared like some pretty pet and shoved and flipped around to be used as Sinbad sees fit all day-

"Fill me up," Judal begs, and he groans, lurching backward. "Fill your pretty girl up, Daddy, she's been so good, taking your big cock-"

"She certainly has."

God, Sinbad never gets off this hard to real women, even when they put the coquettish voice on and play coy and bounce around like giggling girls, though that certainly comes close. There's something about this, about Judal in particular, that makes him lurch forward, teeth sinking into Judal's neck and shoulder, groaning loud as he comes hard, hips slapping in deep and staying there, buried as deep as he can get. "You like this," he pants, eyes squeezed shut as the waves of pleasure rock him to the core. "You like it when I fill you up, don't you, love?"

It probably shouldn't get him off quite so hard, thinking of Judal as a woman, filled to bursting with his seed and squirming for more.

Judal sobs, writhing and twitching around Sinbad's cock, that sudden slick, messy fullness far, far too much, and there's nothing helping the spasms that go through his own body shortly after as he spills again without another touch to his cock. "Yes," he manages to gasp out, eyes fluttering as he rocks back with a mindless, useless little moan. "Love it, want you in me like this, all the time-"

"You," Sinbad breathes, rubbing a hand slowly over Judal's belly, "couldn't take me all the time. You'd be sore, used up, tired and begging me to stop because it's too much, isn't that right?"

God, he just wants to melt. Judal sags down, whimpering, eyes fluttering as his muscles twitch just from those few words, his stomach flexing beneath Sinbad's hand. "N…no… I could take it-if that's what you wanted me to do, I'd… I'd definitely be good and do it."

Sinbad sighs out a long breath, pressing a kiss to Judal's shoulder before slowly pulling out. "I might just test you on that later," he warns. "Make sure you mean it." It might not even be too much later, not with the way Judal looks leaking white fluid, clenching and sore, and Sinbad can't help but drag a thumb against his twitching hole. "What a messy girl."

And that would definitely be his legs buckling. "You made me this way," Judal whines, shuddering as he sinks down completely into the bed, burying his face into a pillow. "God. Call me things like that all the time."

Sinbad grins, stretching out on the bed. "You should have told me years ago. Any other fetishes you've been hiding away that your king can indulge you in?" I doubt you tell Aladdin when you want to be bruised up and called a filthy whore. No, he's too nice for that kind of thing.

"When I can think again," Judal dimly manages, "I'm sure I can remember some things." Slowly, he rolls to the side, burying his face into Sinbad's shoulder. "I don't even really care, I just like it when you're in me."

Sinbad combs his fingers gently through the unbound waves of Judal's hair, smiling at the way it manages to be coarse and silky at the same time, so very familiar. "I've been in you a thousand times. You never came like that before."

"Doesn't mean it still wasn't really good all those other times," Judal sighs, rubbing his cheek against Sinbad as he drapes an arm over his chest. "I just really like it when you shove me around and call me names. It's not like I'm gonna break, and I like acting like a whore for you."

That draws a laugh from Sinbad. "You surely do. I think," he adds, walking his fingers down Judal's spine, "it's because you know just how precious to me you are. It's fun to play at being a pauper if you can wake up in a prince's bed."

Those words bring a slow flush to his cheeks, and Judal wriggles himself closer, throwing a leg over Sinbad's hips for good measure. "I liked acting like that even before I was certain you'd keep me, though," he murmurs. "It's fun."

Sinbad has sort of forgotten how much fun it can be, just having someone uninhibited and wild in his bed, riding him desperately. "Well, I hope you don't tire of me too soon. No matter what awful lies you hear, I feel as young and healthy as I ever have, thanks to you."

"You don't look like you've aged a day," Judal agrees, and he promptly rolls over to flop himself down onto Sinbad's chest. "Perks of being a Magi's chosen, hmm?"

"One of many," Sinbad assures him. He smiles up at Judal's familiar, playful face, tugging gently on a curl of hair. "In fact, the vast majority of my life with you by my side has been nothing but perks."

Judal snorts at that, even as he turns his head aside to gently nip at Sinbad's hand. "Don't lie. I know I was a pain in the ass for a really long time."

"Since you chose me," Sinbad amends. "Before that you were hardly your own man. I don't hold it against you, you know."

"Mm." He drops his head down, resting his chin atop Sinbad's chest. "I know. It's probably bad, isn't it, that I don't feel a lot of remorse about all of that. Honestly, I just don't remember it all that well-it feels more like some dream than anything that actually happened."

"Feeling bad about it wouldn't help anyone," Sinbad points out. "Forget it. This is who you are now, and that's what's important." He tightens an arm around Judal, relaxing back. "I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a big day. We should probably try and sleep."

"You said you'd take tomorrow off," Judal quickly complains, wriggling his way against Sinbad with a huff. "I'll make it snow again if you don't."

"It's not a plan or anything. Just...don't you feel it?" Sinbad shivers, and it has nothing to do with the cold. "It's in the air."

"… The only thing I feel right now are your nice muscles."

Sinbad snorts. "Those, I can at least promise, will still be there when you wake.