The great khagan had many brides, one of which was a princess given from the han court to his brother monarch. Batu had never known his father’s wife, except that she was an accomplished lady of the arts who stared at the steppe herds like they were repulsive barbarians, and whose endless stream of sorrows led the tiger to visit her ger often.

For all his campaigns and travel, the mongol’s son had seen no han women on the silk road. This realm of delicate femininity is mysterious to the horselord, and so he is attentive to his majesty. Not for the sake of the emperor’s pretty-faced harem, but because he is ambitious. He is not finished becoming what he means to be, and because he chose to kneel this night before a sovereign worth binding himself to.

“I will keep the harem under guard as requested,” though not as fully as he intended to the platinum lady, whose tremulous smile has gone. He desires to see it again.

“What are your appointed hours, your imminence? The time in which you prefer to rise, and when you will rest.”