Jasper moved like a shadow, barefoot across cold tiles, sandals looped through his fingers. His heart beat steady, not with fear, but with the thrilling certainty of rebellion. Rajah lay stretched along the velvet cushions, head lifting slightly, golden eyes glowing in the dark as the prince crept toward the balcony.

The night air embraced him as he climbed over the whitewashed balustrade. The scent of the desert — warm stone, jasmine, and far-off spice markets — filled his lungs. The world outside pulsed with a life he had only ever watched from a distance, a world that didn’t bend to titles or bloodlines.

The city of Agrabah stretched out ahead, alive. Lanterns hung like fallen stars across the narrow streets, casting amber pools over worn stones. Dancers spun under strings of colored lamps, their veils fluttering like wings. Merchants bartered over glass bottles filled with glowing blue liquid. Dice clattered. Laughter swelled.

Jasper moved through it all, both invisible and deeply present. He soaked in the sights, the sounds, the unfiltered lives of people untouched by marble and politics. The ache in his chest softened, replaced by wonder. Until the shift came.

A hand brushed against his sash. Light as air, but he felt it. Instinct, sharp and practiced from years of royal lessons, kicked in. His hand snapped to his side, catching the wrist just as the figure tried to slip away. The world seemed to narrow around him. Their eyes met and the street’s noise fell away.

You stood before him, caught, but wholly unbothered, a crooked smile curving your lips. The moonlight framed you, outlining the sharp confidence in your stance, the practiced ease of someone used to living one step ahead of danger. You were stunning. Dangerous. Alive.

Your wrist slipped easily from his fingers, your hand lifting to hold the small, gleaming object between two fingers — his signet ring, which must have been palmed the moment before he’d grabbed you. Jasper exhaled a quiet laugh. "Impressive," he murmured.