Norjin’s attendant began to suspect his master had taken leave of his senses. He had brought women into the tent before, but usually for a single night. Never had he fixated on a single woman like this. For days now he had remained shut inside with her. Only this morning had they both appeared properly dressed, speaking quietly outside.
When the attendant returned with a broom, intending to clean in their absence, he noticed a pair of bare feet protruding beneath the hanging tent flap. He blinked. The feet vanished instantly. Wasn’t he supposed to have gone to work?
At this rate, he worried, all that hard-won advancement would vanish, and his master would be sent back in disgrace to the Tolui household. Yet by afternoon, his master had indeed reported for duty. The attendant opened the tent vents, swept quickly, replaced the water jar, prepared food. He only hoped his master hadn’t fallen for some troublesome woman.
This had never happened to her before. Perhaps she truly was losing her mind. A mere brush of his fingertips against my skin is enough to set me ablaze. We don’t always even make it to the sleeping space. Sometimes we’re tearing at each other’s clothes where we stand. What if someone sees us like that? What if we lose control in public?
She was a Thousand Commander of the Empire’s Left Wing. If she lost that rank, she could never stand before her soldiers again, nor before her father’s memory. And if she were to conceive a child by a man she had merely taken to her bed— The thought made her shudder. She forced the thought away and ignored the searching gaze of the deputy who had served her father before her.
“I was thinking—what if I ended up pregnant?” Sarnai said lightly.
Norjin’s body went rigid.
“What?” she asked.
He turned his face aside.
“Don’t. Don’t even say that.”
The bitterness in his tone startled her. It sounded as if he were spitting out something rotten. She decided to tease him.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said softly. “If it were your child, I’m sure it would be beautiful.”
He rose at once and threw on his deel.
“What’s wrong?”
“Never say that again.”
His voice was sharp enough to cut.
“If you dislike children, fine. I would raise it myself. Leave the unit to my deputy. I’ll raise the child on my own land.”
“Absolutely not. No child.”
“If you think doing this won’t lead to one—”
“Enough.”
She fell silent.
He was still young. One might expect him to prefer pleasure over responsibility. But this felt like more than that. As though she had brushed against a wound.
And if she imagined a future with him, she could not avoid it. Or… was it that he did not want a child with her? The thought left a faint scratch inside her chest. But she could not leave him now. She edged closer and laid her hand on his knee.
“Sarnai. No.”
He grasped her shoulders as if to push her back.
“Shh. Let me.”
She knelt between his knees and bent her head.
“Sarnai—”
His grip slackened, and his hand slid into her hair, resting at the back of her head. She listened to his breath grow ragged, his voice breaking into low, helpless sounds, and felt her own desire rising in answer.
Before she knew it, Sarnai had begun living in his tent. The storm of hunger between them gradually subsided. They fell into something resembling ordinary life. Rise at dawn. Go to their duties. Return at dusk. Eat. Make love. Sleep.
She knew it would not last. Her leave would end soon. Then Goryeo awaited again. Mountain fortresses. Burned villages. Crops destroyed. Civilians slaughtered—and still no surrender.
Her leave would end soon. Then Goryeo would be waiting again. Mountain fortresses to storm. Villages to plunder and burn. Fields to set alight. Civilians slaughtered—and still no surrender.
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The King of Goryeo had withdrawn to an island, perhaps thinking the Mongols were weak at sea. Foolish. Subutai had once told her—more than a little irritated—that eastern kingdoms never admit defeat. The battlefield would be bleak. This happiness would have to be her comfort on the battlefield, she told herself. Even if I never returned.
If the King of Goryeo hid on Ganghwa Island, then she would destroy the supply lines.
Villages marked as supply points were burned. Warehouses emptied and set aflame. Ships destroyed.
There was resistance, but in the open field they were no match. Her leave ended, and she was back in Goryeo.
If the King of Goryeo hid on Ganghwa Island, she would starve him there.
She burned every village deemed a supply point, emptied the warehouses, and put the ships to the torch.
There was resistance, but in the open field they were no match for her.
Then she felt it—a sharp pain in her back. She passed command to her deputy and rode toward the rear, the pain deepening, spreading into her abdomen.
Once she reached the rear, she dismounted. Her knees gave way. The saddle was soaked in blood. She had not been struck.
Impossible..
The soldiers rushing toward her blurred. Darkness closed in.
When she awoke, she understood what she had lost.
She had been pregnant.
She had not known.
Norjin’s child.
She did not know whether it had been a son or a daughter.
The army physician watched her with quiet pity. She clenched her teeth and tried to sit up. The world spun. He stopped her and told her she had lost too much blood. That she might never bear a child again. His words did not fully reach her.
Never?
A child its father did not want should not have been born. Even if he did not want it, I would have loved it enough for both of them.
She nearly screamed. But this was the battlefield. She covered her mouth and swallowed the sound.
She had left Karakorum without promises. It had been his choice whether to wait. She had prepared herself for the answer to be no.
When she saw light spilling from the window of the tent they had once shared, she nearly wept.
She slipped inside.
Norjin looked up from his documents.
Nothing had changed.
He smiled and held out his hand.
She wanted to run into his arms.
But she did not.
She smiled instead, took his hand, and sat.
“Welcome back,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think we had a future.”
Her composure cracked. He rose and drew her into his arms.
“I was here,” he said softly. “For you.”
That was enough. Her tears spilled over. He kissed her hair.
“I thought I would never see you again.”
“You’re such a fool.” He rocked her gently.
Then he said, almost casually:
“The King of Goryeo wishes to send an envoy for peace.”
She looked up sharply.
“This morning word reached the old man. He went straight to the Khan.”
If Yelü had received it, it was true.
“You don’t have to go back,” Norjin said, almost smiling. “We can stay together.”
Too late. Far too late. She bit her lip.
“Norjin… listen.”
She twisted in his arms and looked up at him.
“I think I may have fallen for someone. In Goryeo. A man who saved my life. Who stayed by my side on the battlefield.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Is that so.”
He lowered his mouth to the back of her neck.
“Stop.”
He kissed her before she could turn away. He caught her earlobe lightly between his teeth. His tongue traced the curve of it. Her spine shuddered.
“You’re that easy?” he murmured. “Did he touch you like this?”
His fingers slipped beneath her deel.
“Stop.”
But even she heard that her voice lacked refusal. His hand found the sensitive place between her thighs.
“Did you let him touch you here?”
His whisper was merciless. Her body betrayed her. It opened to him. Despair flooded her.
She loved him. And there was no future.
“Please,” she whispered.
She could no longer stand, but he kept her upright with one arm.
“Say it,” he demanded softly. “Say you want me. ”
Her lips moved. He could not hear the words.
When Yelü Chucai entered the tent the next morning, Norjin was already at his desk.
He completed one document, stamped it with his seal, and moved on to the next.
Yelü glanced at him.
Norjin made no attempt to wipe away the tears that streamed down his face.
He simply continued working.
