King Zargov stood in the middle of this chaos, bellowing orders and sending his attendants chasing to and fro, in and out of the room. Jafar watched these antics for a second, pitying the servants, then drew his khanjar from its sheath and stepped up right beside the king. As the monarch paused in his bellowing to draw a breath, Jafar nudged the point of his dagger against the royal ribs. “Make one sound and your heir will inherit your kingdom prematurely,” he whispered in the king’s ear.
King Zargov jumped and looked around, but could see no one. The feel of the knife point against his ribs, however, was unmistakable. “Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
“I am Jafar the mage, whom you thought to imprison in your puny little dungeon. Your skills are no match for mine, O king of pismires. Yo
