Nahla slips into her unassuming disguise for the night as Grace-of-Heaven removes her collar. It felt nice to not have it on, though Nahla tried not to rub her hand over her bare neck too much in front of the Sultan. Her garments were similarly plain to Grace-of-Heaven’s, wearing a beige long-sleeved belted dress.

As she heard the sultan’s ramblings, Nahla couldn’t help but blush slightly at the thought of being called “darling.” She also feel a small twinge of… something else. Frustration? Disappointment? Pity? She had barely spent any time in Sjakal before she was confined to the palace as a distraction for the Sultan, yet she had seemed to have a better grasp on names than her Mistress. Part of her considered that it was in large part yet another sign of the detriments of the sultan’s isolation, of being trapped in her palace. Another part of her, a part she quickly tried to smother down, the side that could remember being the plaything to a naïve royal once before, saw it in a less positive light.

“To use your… [i]wise[/i] ideas as a basis, perhaps it best we be a touch more precise. Flower, for example, perhaps it would be better to go with a type of flower. Perhaps it would be more unassuming if you were called Jasmine. As for me… Iris, perhaps.”

Taking the sultan’s hand, the concubine gently nudges the door open, ensuring that no guards were patrolling the hallway so late at night. She lead ‘Jasmine’ through the hallways, the guards being far fewer in patrol this late. Eventually, she found her way out- a large cart seemingly stuffed to the brim with the worn garments of the various groups that occupy the palace grounds.

“Alright, remember, ‘Jasmine,’ hold your breath. For our plan, and for your own comfort, hold your breath.” With that, ‘Iris’ shoves her blade in its scabbard against the sultan’s chest before pushing her into the cart, making sure to ruffle up the laundry atop to ensure a heavy layer obscuring the sultan that looked undisturbed. With her means of transporting the sultan out secured, Iris lifts the handles and begins trekking the cart through the entrance, confident that no guard would want to thoroughly inspect the dirty laundry of the rambunctious occupants. A bit of playing up the urgency of keeping such a heavy load moving (it wasn’t all false- she was hiding an entire person, after all), added to the clear lack of anything being smuggled out on the transporter’s person, and the pair had successfully escaped. Tilting the massive wagon over near an alley, Nahla reasoned that someone else, perhaps another palace servant, would just assume that whoever was moving the cart accidentally knocked it over and gave up on trying to lift it up. A problem for someone else, but not for them.