Anzhelika luxuriated in a copper bathtub filled with warm water while two maids carefully combed her long hair with silver combs. "Someday I'll forget how to do this myself," she thought serenely as she soaped her leg. The soap smelled sweetly of jasmine and peach. The sun cast a bright red light on the wall, indicating she still had a little time before her date.

The palace unexpectedly had running water, albeit only cold. The maids filled a large, comfortable bathtub, partly from the tap and partly by hauling buckets of boiling water. Four different varieties of soap were offered to Anzhelika. The luxury of the girl's new quarters - Salah ad-Din gave her two rooms, a bedroom and a living room - was not only not inferior to the best hotels that Anzhelika had seen, but even surpassed them: silk, velvet, carved wood, silver accessories for washing...

After getting out of the bath, drying herself, and putting on a silk robe, Anzhelika stepped out of her chambers onto the spacious, cozy balcony to await sunset. In the corner of the balcony, under an awning, stood a velvet-upholstered couch and a table nearby, on which sat a bowl of fruit, a pitcher, and several glasses. The girl leaned against the railing and rested her chin on her clasped fingers. The sun had almost reached the horizon, casting a soft pinkish glow over everything: the balcony, the wide backyard below, dotted with trees, the cloudless sky, and the thousands of Jerusalem rooftops all around. Somewhere below, maids were bickering, a teenage boy was hauling a bundle of firewood, and in the courtyard, about fifteen warriors were gathering, chatting idly and clanking their swords. Medieval life, which Anzhelika had previously only seen in movies, was going on around her, and the girl was now an integral part of it.

Before Anzhelika could even think, "I wish someone down there would start sparring, it's getting boring," she realized she'd been very lucky today. Salah ad-Din strode out into the courtyard with his usual quick, springy stride.

His bright, dark face lit up with a friendly smile as he cheerfully greeted everyone gathered. The Sultan exchanged a few words with a few of the warriors and called on one of the young men to practice a bit, drawing his long, gleaming sword from its sheath.

Anzhelika watched with admiration as the Sultan's agile, flexible figure moved across the courtyard, swinging his sword, again and again attacking his opponent, who clearly lacked skill, which is why he remained more on the defensive. Unlike the fencing you see in movies, Salah ad-Din's movements were more restrained and reserved. But his sharp thrusts were dazzlingly fast, the kind you never see on the screen—the speed of a man accustomed to having it save his life more than once. Nothing superfluous—a lunge, a rebound, a charge, another lunge, and just the right amount of deflection to dodge and then immediately go on the attack, as if in one seamless motion.

Finally, Salah ad-Din knocked the sword out of the breathless boy's hand, waited for him to pick it up, and addressed him in a friendly, completely unwavering voice—as if he hadn't just been showing off his skills for several minutes straight:

"Not bad, Fuad, but your movements need to be a little more economical and precise. Put more energy into your lunge, not your swing."

Anzhelika didn't hear Fuad's reply. She squinted, admiring Salah ad-Din...

The adhan, the call to evening prayer, rang out loud and drawn-out over Jerusalem. Anzhelika looked over the rooftops—the sun had just set. The soldiers began to disperse quickly, and the girl decided it was time to get ready for the date.

Anzhelika returned from the balcony to the room. The maids sat quietly on the sofa, looking at her expectantly. At the very beginning of their acquaintance, they had stood respectfully against the wall, and the girl, seeing that they had no intention of sitting, invited them to sit on the sofa. They followed this recommendation gratefully, but they looked as if they were just waiting for this luck to end. "Doesn't matter, they'll get used to it," Anzhelika thought, throwing her robe onto the armchair and surveying her wardrobe, wondering what to choose for the evening. Pulling on a green silk blouse she hadn't worn yet and buttoning it, the girl walked over to the large full-length mirror. One of the maids immediately ran up to her and took over the task.

The mirror was undoubtedly a terribly expensive accessory in these circumstances, and Anzhelika had appreciated it with delight immediately after moving in, twirling in front of the perfectly polished surface in all directions (the only thing missing was the opportunity to take a selfie). Now she cast an approving glance at her toned figure and noted with pleasure how the soft green silk brightened her sparkling green eyes.

As she pulled her jeans over her slender legs, Anzhelika gave a subtle, sly smile.

Finally, the girl stepped out into the hallway and headed down the stairs. Never before had she experienced such pleasant excitement before a date.

Above the courtyard, in the pinkish sky visible through the gaps between the broad leaves of the numerous palm trees, the first stars were already glimmering. The bright flowers in the flowerbeds smelled sweet, and crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. Anzhelika walked along the paths, looking around for the Sultan, and suddenly realized that Salah ad-Din hardly had any experience with dates—in the soft twilight under the stars, when you wait with trepidation to see nearby someone...

"As-salamu alaykum," a familiar hoarse voice came from somewhere over her shoulder, and Anzhelika turned to meet a pair of heated dark eyes.
"Have you been waiting long?" Anzhelika asked, only wanting to say something, feeling herself blush.
"It doesn't matter," the Sultan flashed a toothy smile. "It was worth it." He gestured invitingly and continued, "We'll take a short stroll—but first, a gift."

Intrigued, Anzhelika followed him out of the courtyard, down the hallway, and out into the street, into the backyard. When they reached the stables, a servant led into the courtyard the most beautiful Arabian horse Anzhelika had ever seen.

The snow-white, graceful, long-maned horse slowly moved its hooves, its long tail slightly raised. Its rich silver harness jingled softly with every movement.

"This is Luna," Salah ad-Din smiled, "and she's yours, Angelica."

Anzhelika let out a soft squeal and hugged the horse's neck. The horse snorted softly.

"Thank you," Anzhelika said, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against the horse's neck, and Salah ad-Din admired the way the girl's light hair almost blended with Luna's mane.

"We say that Allah himself created the Arabian horse from the hot southern wind so it could fly without wings," the Sultan's hoarse voice sounded passionate and slightly dreamy. He took an apple from his pocket and handed it to Anzhelika. "Treat her, so you can become friends more easily."

Anzhelika fed the horse an apple with one hand, stroking its mane, its many braids and chains, with the other. Salah ad-Din made a discreet gesture, and the servant retreated back to the stable.

"Ready?" the Sultan asked. Anzhelika nodded, and Salah ad-Din extended his warm, firm hand. Leaning on it, the girl swung herself onto her horse and was amazed: the Sultan had lifted her into the saddle so easily that she barely felt her weight.

The same servant led Salah ad-Din's horse out of the stable—black as night, with a shiny, smooth coat. It seemed the horse couldn't stand still and kept shifting from one foot to the other.

"Wow," said Anzhelika, "your horse is wonderful too."

Salah ad-Din easily swung himself into the saddle—Anzhelika smiled without even realizing it as she looked at him—and took hold of the reins.

"Al-Baraq is a most faithful comrade on the battlefield," Salah ad-Din said, stroking the neck of his stallion, whose ears twitched impatiently. "We've been through a lot together."

Watching Salah ad-Din pull on his black gloves, Anzhelika caught herself wanting to run her finger over the Sultan's sensual lips under the black stripe of his mustache and turned away in confusion.

Salah ad-Din tugged at the reins and rode out of the courtyard at a brisk trot. Anzhelika followed him.
"Not too fast?" the Sultan asked, turning around as he rode.
"Just right," Anzhelika responded.

Salah ad-Din guided his horse through the deserted alleys so skillfully that they barely had to slow down. Passersby glanced at them curiously; some apparently recognized the Sultan, and several times Anzhelika heard the respectful, traditional greeting. Salah ad-Din responded to each one without slowing his pace.