The Forbidden Wish(48)

“Sometimes,” he says, “I forget you’re supposed to be four thousand years old. You act as shy as a girl of sixteen.”

“I do not!” I sit up and glare at him.

He grins and shrugs, sliding his hands under his head. There are bits of grass stuck in his hair, and after a moment’s hesitation, I reach over and flick them away.

Aladdin watches me silently, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I drop my gaze.

He pulls out the pipe I stole and sticks it between his teeth.

“What do you think?” he asks around the stem. “Do I look noble?”

I snatch it away, and his teeth close with a clack. “Don’t you know that will kill you?”

He stares at me a minute, a mischievous light coming into his eyes. Then suddenly he lunges at me.

“Give it back!”

“It’s mine! I stole it!”

“I saved you from getting flogged!”

He makes a grab for the pipe, and I roll aside, holding it out of his reach. With a wicked laugh, he tickles my side, and I drop the pipe as I hasten to shove him away.

Aladdin picks up the pipe and brandishes it triumphantly, while I lie in the grass and laugh.

“Who knew jinn were ticklish?” He sits cross-legged and taps the pipe on his knee. “I should tell Caspida. I’ve discovered the jinn’s greatest weakness! Sure, they hate iron, but wave a feather on a stick and they’ll run to the other side of the world!”

“That was a dishonorable move, thief.”

“As if I had any honor to begin to with.”

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?”