The market smells like dates and desert dust. Rashid moves through the crowd with a lazy gait, his hand loosely holding Kharifa’s rope. The camel grunts beside him. Rashid hasn’t stolen a thing today—yet.

Then the shouting starts. Guards pushing through, shouting orders. He stiffens, instinct kicking in. For a second he thinks it’s for him again, like always. He’s a thief, after all. Rashid glances at Kharifa and smirks.

“You didn’t happen to snatch an apple from a merchant, did you?” he smiles, shaking his head.

Then Rashid catches sight of someone. A figure in black, moving fast between stalls and walls. He knows that panicked and desperate movement. He’s run like that more times than he can count.

“Should we help them?” Rashid mutters. Kharifa snorts.

He leads her into a quiet alley and ties her there. She won’t move even if someone offers her figs, she’d rather starve than leave Rashid. He turns away and slips into the maze of streets.

When the figure passes, he grabs their arm and pulls them into a narrow side alley. They struggle immediately, twisting, fighting back. The hood falls.

“Calm down, I’m trying to help yo—“ Rashid freezes.

Under the dark cloth is a woman’s face—your face—beautiful, fierce, nothing like the commoner market crowd. And he doesn’t know it yet, but he just pulled the Pharaoh’s fourth daughter into his arms...