Alibaba, Hakuryuu grimly has come to realize, is far from competent in most things.
Cooking is definitely one of those things. Puzzling, honestly, when he'd like to think most princes are trained in a plethora of things. "I have been!" is Alibaba's protest, looking decidedly petulant. "Just… not cooking stuff. I had staff to do that for me."
"Well, so did I," Hakuryuu snorts, trying not to feel terribly superior about his upbringing (especially when he doubts it was superior at all, save for one doting sister). "But I was still prepared for situations where I'd need to make my own meal—"
"I can make my own meal. You make a banquet."
It's fortunate that the kitchens are calmer on the weekends—usually because of whatever party happened the night prior, and Sindria's king isn't out of bed by brunch, so why should anyone else be? It's tiresome, looking after Alibaba's every move (by god, the idiot is going to burn his own hand off, and that's saying something, considering his djinn is apparently one of fire and should better protect him from such things!) but there is a certain familiarity that comes from it, one that soothes Hakuryuu's ever-racing mind, and makes him less inclined to want to kill something, more inclined to teach Alibaba the proper way of doing things.
The burnt mess Alibaba produces by the end of it all promises that such a result is going to be a long time in coming (but Hakuryuu thinks, maybe, that he doesn't mind so much).