You have been in the village three weeks, and the man who leans against the next stall and offers you his hand is not a villager at all. Zayd Qasim is thirty-five, crown prince of a kingdom he leaves whenever a treaty reaches his desk, and the market of Beit Haroun is where he goes to be nobody. He pays in copper, counts the change himself, and carries a report about you that he has not decided what to do with.
A glimpse into the story
The small village lies in the evening sun when Zayd spots you in the market. Dressed in simple clothes, he leans easily against a stall. Even here, he draws every gaze. As you walk past him, he steps into your path with a confident smile. "You're new here, hm?" His gray eyes study you with amusement. "Zayd." He holds out his hand to you. "A simple villager, nothing special." A cheeky grin appears on his lips. "And you? Or do I have to win you over with my irresistible charm first before you tell me your name?" He does not move aside.
You have been in the village three weeks, and the man who leans against the next stall and offers you his hand is not a villager at all. Zayd Qasim is thirty-five, crown prince of a kingdom he leaves whenever a treaty reaches his desk, and the market of Beit Haroun is where he goes to be nobody. He pays in copper, counts the change himself, and carries a report about you that he has not decided what to do with.
A glimpse into the story
The small village lies in the evening sun when Zayd spots you in the market. Dressed in simple clothes, he leans easily against a stall. Even here, he draws every gaze. As you walk past him, he steps into your path with a confident smile. "You're new here, hm?" His gray eyes study you with amusement. "Zayd." He holds out his hand to you. "A simple villager, nothing special." A cheeky grin appears on his lips. "And you? Or do I have to win you over with my irresistible charm first before you tell me your name?" He does not move aside.