"Make way, for Prince Sahir~"
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Ship: Sahir Ibn Khaldaris (oc) x reader
ignore that this is completely a Christmas and new years gift for my wife @nogenderbee
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I learned early that hunger makes you honest.
It strips you down to the truth of things how many coins you have left, how long you can go without eating, how much pride you’re willing to swallow before your body forces your hand. In the desert, there is no room for lies. The heat burns them away.
By the time I reached the market that morning, the sun was already high enough to sting. Sand clung to my sandals and the hem of my clothes, worked its way into every crease of my skin like it was trying to claim me. The bazaar was alive despite it vendors shouting prices, fabrics snapping in the dry wind, the air thick with spice and dust and roasting meat I could not afford.
I counted my coins for the third time.
I stood at a stall piled high with flatbread and dates, pretending I was considering my options when in truth I was calculating which meal I could skip without fainting later. The vendor watched me with the practiced patience of someone who knew exactly how this would end.
“I’ll take half,” I said finally, hating the way my voice dipped.
He named the price. I opened my palm.
The silence that followed was louder than the market.
“That’s short,” he said, not unkindly.
“I know.” My fingers curled around the coins, knuckles tight. “I can bring the rest tomorrow.”
He sighed. “Tomorrow doesn’t feed you today.”
I swallowed. The heat pressed in, thick and suffocating, and for one humiliating moment I considered begging. Just a little. Just enough.
It wasn’t sudden at first just a ripple. A hush moving through the crowd like wind through tall grass. Voices lowered. People stepped back. Someone muttered a name under their breath, reverent and sharp all at once.
I turned just as the procession entered the bazaar.
Guards in layered silks and polished armor parted the crowd with practiced ease, their presence commanding space without force. Behind them came camels draped in gold-threaded cloth, servants carrying parasols and chests, the soft jingle of jewelry announcing wealth before it could even be seen.
And at the center of it all—
Prince Sahir ibn Khaldaris.
I knew him by reputation alone, the way everyone in the desert did. The favored son of a powerful lineage. The jewel of the sands. A man born with more wealth than I would see in ten lifetimes. He wore red and gold like the desert wore the sun, dark hair falling loose beneath a wrapped headscarf, eyes sharp and unreadable as he surveyed the market.
Not for anything he did. Not really.
But because the world bent for him, and it never bent for people like me.
The vendor straightened, suddenly all smiles and bows. “Your Highness ”
Sahir’s gaze shifted, passing over spices and fabrics and people like they were part of the scenery until it stopped.
I stiffened. I didn’t bow. I didn’t step back. I just stared, defiant and tired and painfully aware of the coins clenched in my hand.
His eyes dropped, just briefly, to my palm.
It wasn’t the sharp, smug grin I expected. It was softer. Curious. Like he’d found something interesting where he hadn’t expected to.
“You were buying?” he asked.
His voice was low, smooth, the kind that carried easily even without being raised.
“And now I’m leaving,” I snapped, turning away before pride could fully abandon me.
The word wasn’t a command but it stopped me anyway.
“I’ll cover it,” he said. “All of it.”
I laughed, short and humorless. “I don’t need charity.”
“Good,” he replied easily. “Neither do I.”
He nodded to the vendor, who immediately began piling food into a basket far more than I’d asked for. Flatbread, dates, dried fruit, even a small sack of rice.
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “I didn’t ask for-”
“I did,” Sahir said. “And I insist.”
I glared up at him. “Why?”
For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes something thoughtful. “Because you looked like you needed it.”
I hated that answer most of all.
Before I could argue further, he was already moving, gesturing for me to follow as the convoy shifted deeper into the bazaar.
“I’m not going on some royal errand with you,” I said.
“Then don’t,” he replied. “Walk beside me. Or ahead. Or leave.”
He paused, glancing back. “But the spiced tea at the eastern stalls is worth staying for~"
Against my better judgment—
We walked through the market together, the space around us opening like water before a blade. Vendors bowed. Children stared. I scowled and clutched my basket like it might disappear if I loosened my grip.
“You know,” I said, “people like you ruin markets like this.”
He raised a brow. “Do we?”
“Everything doubles in price the moment you arrive.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “I’ll apologize to the economy later.”
I shot him a look, but he was smiling again not mocking, just… amused. As if my anger didn’t offend him.
We stopped at a stall selling jewelry carved from bone and stone. Sahir picked up a simple bracelet, turning it over in his fingers.
“Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I do.”
He nodded, like he’d expected that. “Fair.”
That should have annoyed me more than it did.
By the time the sun began to dip, my basket was heavy, my feet sore, and my resentment… complicated. Sahir listened more than he spoke. Asked questions about my life without pity. When I complained about the heat, he agreed. When I scoffed at palace life, he didn’t defend it.
At the edge of the bazaar, the convoy slowed.
A guard leaned in, urgency etched into his expression. Sahir sighed, long and quiet.
“Oh,” I replied, surprised by the sharp twist in my chest.
He hesitated, then pressed a small coin into my hand not gold. Copper. Common.
“For next time,” he said.
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Perhaps,” he said gently. “But I’d like there to be.”
Before I could answer, he was being ushered away, swallowed by silk and sand and status.
I stood there long after the market noise returned, watching the desert reclaim him.
And for the first time in a long while, hunger wasn’t the loudest thing in my chest.
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