#pocprince

“Alizayd al Qahtani.” The syllables fell from his mouth like someone else was speaking them. Tiamat blinked, the great marid mother actually looking surprised, and so he repeated the words more firmly. “My name is Alizayd al Qahtani.”

Tiamat regarded him. He couldn’t tell if she looked annoyed or pleased.

So be it, she declared.

They began crossing the garden. “So,” Ali continued, a playful edge to his voice, “what is this about dressing up in an Anahid costume?”
She looked up, eyeing him severely. “Don’t start, al Qahtani. Not when you’ve been admiring your reflection in every shiny surface we’ve passed since you got off your horse.”
Mortification swept the humor off his face. “Was it that obvious?” he whispered.
Nahri paused, savoring his embarrassment. “Only to anyone who looked your way.” She smiled sweetly. “So, everyone.”
Ali cringed, reaching out to touch his turban. “I never expected to wear this,” he said softly. “I couldn’t help but wonder how it looked.”
“Good luck with that excuse when Muntadhir learns you stole it.” Admittedly, Ali did cut a striking figure in the turban, the dazzling gold stripes picking up a warmth in his gray eyes. Still, Nahri didn’t like it on him. “It doesn’t suit you,” she said, as much to herself as to Ali.
“No,” he replied tonelessly. “I suppose of the two of us, Muntadhir looks more like what people expect of a Qahtani prince.”
She realized too late the double meaning of her words. “Oh, no, Ali. That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” — Kingdom of Copper, by S.A. Chakraborty