[Such confidence despite her grief... he can't help but marvel at it. Where does it come from? Notes of her ring familiar to the Princess he's acquainted with - the soft weight of her hand at his arm, the way her eyes glimmer when hopeful and how her voice refuses to crumple even when all the rest of her does - but they've been arranged into different chords, their melodies set in a different key. He wonders what kind of life the girl at his side has lived, to express herself in such a way.
Ah, but she's asking for his name. He swallows around the fragments of his doubts that have lodged themselves in his throat, and tries to ignore the block of ice settling in his stomach.]
We can call ourselves even, if you'd like; I've not asked for yours either. [Even if he has a decent idea, it's still one made entirely from mental thumbtacks and string.] But you may call me Sheik.
[and it's a totally cool and not at all fake name shut up––]
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Ah, but she's asking for his name. He swallows around the fragments of his doubts that have lodged themselves in his throat, and tries to ignore the block of ice settling in his stomach.]
We can call ourselves even, if you'd like; I've not asked for yours either. [Even if he has a decent idea, it's still one made entirely from mental thumbtacks and string.] But you may call me Sheik.
[
and it's a totally cool and not at all fake name shut up––]