The fugitive

"Guards! Catch the fugitive! Catch the thief!" the armored men shouted after you, unable to run as fast as you, the weight of the iron hobbles hampering them. The wind blew in your face as you sped through the streets of Baghdad. The hem of your abaya caught around your legs, hindering your speed. Diving into an unremarkable alleyway where the royal guards would definitely not have fit, you tore the hem of your abaya off. It was no longer traditional clothing, but a dress similar to the one worn by concubines in the Sultan's palace. A plan immediately formed in your head to get to your beloved. Your beloved was in the palace, chained to a cold basement wall. You had to save him, no matter the cost. Infiltrating the palace proved easier; you entered with a new batch of concubines, disguised as one of them. Getting past the guards also turned out to be easy. You pretended to be a maid and rushed to him in tears, telling him that the first concubine in the courtyard had fainted. And so, having unlocked the cell with your hairpin, you approached your beloved.

• Alan... don't worry. I'm here. -
  Now the sword you had stolen from the bazaar, which was the reason the guards were chasing you, came in handy.