I lift my eyes skyward and start to lean away, but then Aladdin reaches out and grabs my wrist, stopping me. I look up at him questioningly, and freeze.
His eyes are staring deep into mine, suddenly curious and thoughtful, and a strange wind rustles through my body. I go very still, not even breathing, as his hand lifts and he runs his finger so gently, so softly, along my jaw. He gazes at me as if seeing me for the first time, his lips just slightly parted.
For a moment I’m certain he’ll say something he will regret, and apprehension wells up in me.
But then he draws back with a husky laugh, his eyes slipping away. “Grapes.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE TWO WEEKS PASS SLOWLY, until at last we arrive at the day of Fahradan. Darkness falls, but the festival will not commence until midnight. After a stiff, long dinner with the nobles—Darian failing to make an appearance—Aladdin returns to our rooms to find a new set of clothes has been laid out. They are resplendent, showy garments, scarlet and gold, complete with cape and feathered turban. Aladdin regards them with dismay, then goes to his room to put them on.
When he emerges, dressed in all but the turban, I catch my breath, caught off guard. The tight-fitting cut of the long coat accentuates his taut abdomen and broad shoulders and is drawn in around his waist with a thin black belt. The scarlet fabric with its exquisite gold-and-black embroidery brings out the copper streaks in his eyes, and the high collar stops halfway up his neck, brushing his stubbled jaw when he looks down to survey himself. The cloak, which is scarlet on the outside and lined with pale gold fabric, crosses from his left shoulder to drape over his right arm.
“Well?” he says gruffly. “How do I look?”
“Um.” I swallow hastily and look away. “You might catch the princess’s eye, I suppose.”
“I itch all over. If I’d known being a prince mostly consisted of wearing damned uncomfortable costumes like this, I’d never have made that wish.”
“You itch because you need to shave,” I note. “Sit.”
I retrieve a shaving knife and creamy goats’-milk soap and throw a wool blanket over Aladdin to spare his fine clothes. He grumbles but goes along as I order him to sit on a stool in the grass, in the light of a strong lantern.
Aladdin tilts his head back and swallows as I soap my hands and then run them over his cheeks and jaw, leaving a thick lather.
“Don’t move,” I say softly. His eyes follow mine as I press the edge of the blade to his cheek and gently scrape away the short, coarse hairs. His irises are golden in the candlelight, and his long, dark lashes almost make him look as if he’s lined his eyes with kohl.
“Where did you learn to do this?” he asks.
“Don’t talk unless you want your throat cut,” I warn. “I’ve been around a long time. You tend to pick things up.”
“How long have you been in the lamp?”
“What did I say about talking?” I sigh.
“Well? How long?”
I bend over him, running the blade along the angle of his jaw. “For as long as I have been jinn.”
“Who put you there?”
“Why do you care?”
His brow wrinkles slightly. “Because it seems wrong to keep someone locked away, just sitting around waiting to make other people’s lives better.”
“Who said I made their lives better? Will you please keep still?”
“Was it Nardukha?”
I pause, the blade resting on his cheek. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Well, isn’t he the king of the jinn or something?”
I grip his chin lightly with my free hand, forcing him to keep his mouth shut while I scrape beneath his nose. Gods, how did he come by such perfect lips? And why do I feel warm as a fire? “He is. And yes, he’s the only jinni left with enough power to bind us to lamps and bottles and other such prisons.”
“Like the jinn charmers?”
I pull the blade away sharply. “What do you know of the jinn charmers?”
“Just that they play sometimes in the streets, or outside the city walls. People say their music can charm jinn right into bottles.”
“Kind of like that,” I reply. “But Nardukha’s magic is much stronger. It not only binds us to our vessels, it strips us of our magic and compels us to grant wishes.”
“Why does he do it?” he asks, when I pause to wipe the blade clean.
“Because he can,” I reply flatly. “It’s one of the ways he keeps us under control. If we disobey or threaten him, he enslaves us to humans until we repent and beg for his forgiveness. Even then, he might not relent.”
“Which did you do? Threaten him or disobey him?”
I scrape beneath his chin, then down the skin of his neck, taking particular care around his delicate veins, before replying. “Both.”
“That’s all you’re going to say, isn’t it? No matter how much I ask?”
With a tight smile, I shave the last of his stubble away. “You know me so well already.”