Erden

Winter had not fully arrived yet, but the cold already pierced through the silk robes of the imperial court.

At the northern border of China stood a massive nomadic camp—thousands of horses, black banners, and yurts scattered across the endless steppe. Their army had conquered more land in months than imperial generals had lost in years.

At its head stood Erden Khan.

His name was spoken in whispers at court.

Barbarian. Conqueror. The bloody Khan of the northern steppes.

Unwilling to continue the war, the Emperor agreed to negotiations and sent his daughter with the delegation.

Officially—as a representative of the imperial family. Unofficially—to prove the Empire did not fear the nomads.

She hated the journey.

The freezing wind, the smell of smoke, and the way the nomads stared at her silk robes.

When she entered the main tent, she expected an old warlord.

Instead, a young man sat on a pile of furs.

Dangerously calm.

Erden Khan lazily spun a dagger in his hand.

His dark eyes lifted to her—

and stopped.

Silence filled the tent.

Advisors spoke of peace, borders, and taxes.

Erden ignored every word.

He only looked at her—the golden pins in her hair, her perfect posture, the cold politeness in her gaze.

“So the Emperor sent me a gift?” he finally asked.

Everyone froze.

She slowly turned to him.

“If that is your idea of diplomacy, then your education is worse than people claim.”

Several warriors reached for their weapons.

But Erden Khan only laughed.

Loudly. Genuinely.

And that frightened his advisors most of all.

Because the Khan who had never cared for anyone looked at the Emperor’s daughter as if he had already decided she would stay.

Forever.

And she still didn’t know the peace treaty would include one final condition:

the princess would remain in the steppes as the Khan’s honored guest.

Temporarily.

Of course.