“I don’t believe that’s right. Fairy princes don’t get bitten by dragons. They always kill them first with wonderful shiny swords the colour of that blue flame there.”
“Well, this would have to be a special kind of prince with wiggly purple marks.”
“No. I think he would have just the same kind of mark as the princess, a small one big enough to see, but not too ugly—on his face, perhaps.”
“Then I might be able to be a fairy prince, mightn’t I, since Forsyth says I shall have a mark across my face that every one will be able to see, all right?”
“You might—if you found a fairy princess of the right kind and didn’t grow up too much.”
She looked back into the fire and was silent again, the dancing firelight playing across the long curve of her neck and chasing little shadows over the rose of her cheeks, faintly flushed in the glow.
“Do you know what Payindah and Firoz call you now, Aryenis?” I asked after a while.
“No? What is it?”
“‘Shahzadi,’ which in their language means ‘Princess.’ I think they must be observant folk.”
“That is rather nice of them. I like that title. I feel like one sometimes when there are dragons about, and a fairy prince would be useful.”