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Ögedei drinks frequently with zeal none of his peers could rival.
And you don't say that out of concern for his health, of course not. The heavens shall split open and the earth crushed to dust before you feel worried for your husband.
It's merely an observation from a bystander's perspective.
Beneath the starry night, you remain furthest from the cluster of torch bearers circling the Second Prince and Third Prince, two of the latter's wives watching fondly as they race on their horses.
You're alone, with no retainer nor servant lingering about you. It's easier to act however you prefer when you aren't subjected to prying glances, and you're more than capable of protecting yourself in case trouble strikes.
Your hands tenaciously hold your naginata, the blade guarded underneath a cover you crafted yourself.
A masculine roar of laughter draws your attention to the men, and a part of you hopes that the Third Prince falls off his saddle and gets crushed beneath the hooves of his horse.
No such thing happens, and you ruminate at how none of your wishes seem to have been granted in a long, long time.
Ever since you married that man.
Your lips twist in disdain when you hear Kirgistani, your fellow co-wife, shower her husband with praises in a boisterous, confident, loving voice that only ever made itself known around him.
You can't comprehend how they can possibly do it. How Kirgistani and Möge can stand there and gaze at him with admiration and love glimmering in their eyes that it's apparent from afar, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the fire.
You have no desire to feel the same; instead, their expressions serve as firewood feeding the flame of fury blazing in your chest.
It's been twenty-seven years; empires can rise and fall in that timespan, yet the ire you hold towards him is as fresh as the unfortunate day you crossed paths with him.
Your own mind works with such complications at times that you question what you truly crave. You hate him; that part of you is the most authentic, yet another, exhausted version of you wishes to bury it all and enjoy what remaining life you have.
No. You can't. Couldn't.
That would mean burying all the pain and suffering your people went through that day. It would mean undermining their sacrifices, your parents' sacrifices, your sacrifices.
You were married to the third son of Emperor Genghis Khan, but that man no longer exists.
He's the Great Kha'an of the Mongols now.
Would it be alright to preach that they are two different people? Would it be alright to think that the man you married isn't the same as the one on horseback in the far distance?
Would it be adequate to believe that, if only for the sake of it bringing you comfort?
You rest your forehead against the polearm, eyes lowering down on the grass as your chest tightens inexplicably.
Foolish. How foolish it is of you to hope there is escape when your parents' lives are on the line. How foolish it is of you to long for freedom when your people are caged within their own homes.
When did you become like this?
The younger you, the braver and bolder you were a rebellious teen who would've torn out a man's throat if he dared to question your honor.
What happened to her?
Ögedei all but killed that part of you.
The fire's shadow dances across the plain, the wind ruffles the grown grass, and combined, they morph into shapes that seem to be telling the tale of that day.
You were seventeen, being guided by Mother to embroider a special outfit designated for when you accompany Father for your regular hunting.
He had decided it was time to teach you how to capture foxes in place of rabbits and hares, deeming you ready to take on slightly larger animals.
Mother was sharing gossip about a woman two tents down, her expression playful while a giggle left your mouth with every sentence.
Your needle was halfway through the fabric when the first scream pierced the air. You paused, startled as your and Mother's heads lifted at the ger's covered entrance in sync.
You were up on your feet before her, but she made you stay back while smoothing a hand on your shoulder, a tight smile on her face. "Stay put; I'll go and find your Father."
You hesitantly complied with her instructions and watched with your heart pounding as she dashed out of your ger.
Your embroidery was left abandoned on the floor, and you counted every second under your breath for when Mother would reemerge. You reached twenty-seven before the screams increased tenfold.
All that unfolded in your mind was what Father had instilled in you. Protect, defend, attack.
You crossed your safe haven to the farthest corner, your heartbeat settling into a slow, collected tempo as you pushed past rolled carpets to retrieve your concealed naginata.
The moment you scurried out of your ger, your mouth was left agape at how the sky looked like it had opened up to another world.
The sun dipped low in the horizon, bleeding amber and crimson across the sky. The clouds were spaced out, painted in bright colors to mimic dancing flames.
Shortly thereafter, a downpour of dozens of arrows welcomed you.
The naginata came down to counter a few that fell aimed at you, your strikes fluid as you deflected more that followed, weaving through the panic-stricken crowd with practiced cadence.
All forms memorized, every movement muscle memory.
People were scrambling for safety in the opposite direction; women shielded their children with their bodies, and you once perceived no men in the vicinity save for a few young boys. You understood it only meant they were out front.
Father was there, too.
You took in a deep breath.
"Exit the village from the back!" Your words resonate through the chaos; the eyes of your people fell on you as you moved past them. "Focus on survival above all else; leave everything behind!"
They complied instantly, helping each other if some were lagging behind, carrying those who couldn't walk; after all, they respected you just as much as they respected their Chieftain—
"You bold fool!" A man derisively exclaimed, his horse bridging the distance quicker than his fellow comrades could keep up with, bow and arrow drawn at you. "Did you really believe revealing your strategies in front of your enemies was a wise decision?"
Your gaze went to the weapon in his hands, the string of his bow pulled back with such ferocity that it seemed more of a sadistic choice than an actual need.
Your grip around the naginata tightened, sidestepping the moment prior to the arrow being released. It whirled past your ear by a small margin, embedding itself on the ground behind you as you twisted on your feet.
Your long-ranged weapon hooked under the stirrup of his saddle and delivered an outward slash. A groan of pain and he slides down his horse just enough to leave his side open.
You draw back the naginata, changed direction, and thrust towards the small gap between his padded collarbones.
The sound of skin slitting followed the spray of crimson in the air, the blade of your naginata glossy once you withdrew it with a sickening squelch.
An acrid taste rose to the back of your throat, but you didn't falter because faltering would cost you lives, and every life was too precious to be lost so quick.
Mother almost didn't survive having you, and although both your parents were content with a single child, you chose to become both the daughter they loved and the son they didn't have.
You became their support and their strength.
Our talented warrior, they used to affectionately call you, our family's honor—
You couldn't let them die. You wouldn't let them die.
The air burned your lungs, and desperation coiled around your heart as you clawed your way through galloping horses, showers of arrows, yells and grunts to the front line.
And you cut through all of it with the practiced swing of your weapon.
The naginata had grown to be your extended limb, and over the course of the years, your strikes became more precise than the previous ones. It was all possible due to Father's patience, and it was time to put all you learned on the line.
The nearer you drew to the rear echelon where most of the enemies were gathered, the more unambiguous it became that the majority of the men lying in a heap of their own blood were of your village, and amidst it all, you spotted Father.
Your breathing hitched, and impulse coursed through your veins seeing him be brought to his knees by a man on horseback facing away from you, a bruise blooming on his cheek.
An inexplicable emotion bloomed in your chest, something that burned more fiercely than wrath.
Your heart stopped the moment you sighted Mother behind him, gripping her shoulder with blood seeping through the cracks of her fingers down the back of her hand.
You were able to put a name to that feeling in your chest thereafter. Unadulterated and explosive rage.
The anger drew out strength you didn't realize you possessed, and the naginata went through another warrior's back with such force it penetrated through his armor.
Your movements didn't falter as you pulled your weapon back before piercing it through another enemy's abdomen. The only reason you kept pushing through was to swiftly bridge the distance between you and your parents.
Your emotions had done such a tremendous job of clouding your judgment that you didn't comprehend your actions till the blade of your naginata was behind that vile man's neck.
"NO!!—" Mother's wail pierced the bubble of hatred encompassing you.
The rowdy noise surrounding you hushed instantly; a calculated silence took its place. Then all at once, you heard it. The sound of bows being drawn.
Your scrutinizing gaze flickered about you, and just like prey surrounded by a pack of wolves, you and your family found yourselves confined in by arrows.
He must be an important man if the others reacted so strongly at the prospect of him being harmed. Important people are sought after; they're protected. You could've used it to your advantage.
But then you heard Mother's stuttering inhale, Father voicing his concern with softness only audible to you, and you knew you weren't going to mill about helplessly.
"If any of you so much as move a muscle, I'll stab him through his neck." Your declaration causes contempt to plaster on the men's faces, but they weren't convinced by your threat.
You remedied it. Tracing the blade of your naginata just so it rested under his jaw, you sharply angled your weapon up. His head jerked back, and you caught a glimpse of his face.
Young. He was no man; he was a mere boy.
And yet he housed more patience than those seasoned warriors.
Their bows are pulled taut, and you were ready to abandon your offensive stance to shield your parents if they released the arrows, but before any of them could, the boy lifted his hand, and they halted.
With a single gesture.
It made your fury burn brighter, hotter.
Your name rang within earshot, and your head snapped towards Father, eyes wide, fear etched on his face.
"Father..." your hardened expression crumbled the instant you met his eyes. "Father, Mother..."
"Don't hurt her!" Mother exclaimed, her words cracking from the pressure of her emotions. "She's a young girl and knows no better; spare her and take me instead."
Mother was crying, not loudly, not while howling in pain, but with silent tears cascading down her cheeks as she bowed at the boy.
Your chest twisted on itself. Why?
"Mother," you moved cautiously, your weapon never inching away from his neck as you circled his horse, stopping only when you were certain you could shield your parents from his gaze.
You felt Father grasp the back of your clothes. "Prince Ögedei, I beg of you to not harm any of us. If it is weapons and valuables you seek, I shall deliver it to you without resistance."
"Father," you wanted to tell both of them to not give up, but the fear that held them hostage was near-palpable. "Stop Mother's bleeding."
Who was Prince Ögedei?
You shifted a hand to your back, momentarily giving his wrist a comforting squeeze before your grip returned to your naginata.
Father moves after the slightest bit of hesitation.
So did the men surrounding you.
"I'll strike him dead this very instant if any of you dares to take my words lightly!" Your proclamation froze them in place once again; the words rolled out your tongue coated with every emotion—
"Yes, yes, you should all listen to her before she brings harm upon me." His words cut through the air cleanly, his tone firm yet casual. As if his life weren't at your mercy.
How dare he mock your words?
Determination made you raise your head with defiance sharp in your eyes, but it flickered once your gaze landed on his face.
You expected him to be bearing a frown of aversion that heavily contradicted his gentle voice, ready to roar on about disrespect once you finally met his eye, yet the boy before you doesn't appear ruthless.
His bangs framed his face in soft curls, his gaze didn't pin you down assessing your worth, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his brows relaxed in a way that reflected heavy consideration without twisting his face.
He seemed like he was the same age as you.
Which was why you were perplexed as to how he could sit on his saddle with such dignified composure even though you could end his life. Even though you had the upper hand in this situation.
He didn't reach for the sword tucked at his side, his grip on the reins didn't constrict, and his breathing didn't waver while your chest heaved.
He's a barbarian.
"You're mocking me." It wasn't a question but a rope that settled around your neck like a noose.
"I am merely speaking in your favor," he responded, his voice lowered down to a gentle volume as if calming a frenzied child. "Is it not what you asked for?"
Ire took hold of your tongue. "I don't need an ignoramus man like you to speak for me."
Surprise flashed across his face, yet anger didn't follow. "Ignoramus?"
The uproar was instantaneous.
"How dare you say that to Prince Ögedei?!"
"Do you not have the slightest inkling of whose presence you are in?!"
"Is your life of no value to you?!" A particularly loud scream registered to your ears. "Do you wish to succumb so desperately that you'd insult the Great Khan's third son?!"
The Great Khan...
The Great Khan?
Epiphany washed over you like a raging storm.
The—Genghis Khan's son?!
"So you have heard of my father." He shifted on his saddle, unbothered by the verity that you were in a position that easily granted you access to slit his throat right then and there.
Genghis Khan's son. You and your rash temper—
He dismounted his horse with grace that contradicted the destruction around you, the grass softly crunching under his weight. "But I suppose it would be bizarre if you hadn't."
Your weapon hadn't inched away from him, yet he stood so composed compared to your tremulous self.
"Don't come near my family," you gritted out the moment he took a step in your direction.
He complied, but then he had the fortitude to call you by your name. Your name. Softly, as if testing the word on his lips.
"Is that your name?" He lifted his hand to your naginata and tried to push it away as if he were swatting a fly.
You didn't dare budge.
"Don't call me that." He infuriated you to no end, and it blinded your rationality so thoroughly you didn't hear Mother's broken whisper of "Stop."
He tilted his head to the other side. "By your name?"
"By my name, yes." His bottom lip jutted out, and he had the audacity to pout. "I don't care whose son you are. I don't care if you're a warrior. I will combat you if you do anything to the people I love."
"Those you love, huh?" he mumbled, and with a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes trialled all over your face before he looked at his men. "Lower your weapons."
They were equally astounded as you at his revelation, many of them tentative to follow through with his command. Naively, you thought that boy held some semblance of clemency in his heart.
His eyes fluttered shut, and a smile graces his lips. "Go after the villagers."
You didn't care what would happen to you, but you just knew you wanted him dead.
With an outraged scream, you closed the distance between you. Your hand rose and struck his armored chest with an enormous amount of pressure.
That caught him off-guard; with a twirl of your hand, your grip on the naginata shifted near the blade, and once his back collided with the ground, you had a blade pressed to his skin and a hand around his throat, one knee digging into the grass beside his torso. "You pathetic—loathsome, cowardly boy!"
You could hardly feel Father's arms wrapping around your shoulder to shield you. And with their prince attacked, the men forwent his previous order and came for his defense first, yanking you back and tackling you to the ground instead.
You didn't remember much of what happened after, but Prince Ögedei stayed by your side for the entire duration of it, hands frequently brushing against your blood-stained sleeves.
When you were brought forth to be judged by Genghis Khan himself, your nails permanently embedded crescents into your palm with every word that left the emperor's mouth.
"Taking my beloved son's appeal into consideration, I have decided to offer you two choices. Marry him, and your village may be pardoned for your heinous crime of imperiling his life, or join them in death and atone for the grave sin you committed."
You chose the former.
The moment the Emperor finished speaking, your voice filled in the silence without a single tremor punctuating your words. You never heard yourself sound so monotonous before.
They could've placed burning charcoal against your skin, and you would've borne the pain, but when your people—when your parents' lives were on the line—you didn't think twice about yours.
Your once carefree life intertwined with his so intimately it interfered with every one of your hobbies.
Sleeping in till late? You had a new servant to keep your routine in check. Going out for horse riding? Two retainers are with you at all times. Yearning to spar with your naginata? Forget about it entirely.
Prince Ögedei visited nearly every other day, a grin on his face as he presented you with gold jewelry and rare pearls from expenditures to far-away lands; large bouquets of flowers that somehow always manage to survive his treacherous journey back to his territory; books and literature of great, respected scholars on subjects you couldn't find within the empire; anything that would make you acknowledge him.
You trained your eyes to be fixated on the ground, and you managed to avoid glancing at his face for two successful years. Until the day you were dressed in heavy garments and traditional face paint, with nearly the entire empire gathered to witness your wings being clipped.
Your parents were allowed there, too, a few weeks before the important day, and you remember throwing your arms around them while sobbing your heart out, begging for their forgiveness.
I'm sorry I was so rash; your tears soaked into Mother's shoulder. I'm sorry I almost cost you your life.
Mother followed you wherever you led her, holding your hand all the while and never letting her grip loosen. Father let you cling to him for days, watching through puffy eyes as he carved a small horse out of wood for you.
"Our horses symbolize freedom and independence. I know it's painful, but endure the hardships of life, my child, and I'm certain a greater path will open up for you."
When you stood hand-in-hand with Ögedei during the ceremony, you kept the horse concealed behind your clothes, and once you finally looked at him after two long years, dressed immaculately, his soft, boyish features had all but smoothed out into those of a mature young man.
He was smiling wide with his eyes crinkled, and you knew you weren't all that special because years later, you'd witness him gift that very same expression to the other women he claimed as his wives.
You hated him, you hated, hated, hated him—but when you two were finally alone, and he returned your naginata back to you with its blade gleaming silver and its wooden polearm polished, the flame in your chest flickered.
It reduced and burned dimmer and dimmer, and when solitude became too much to handle, it nearly gave out.
That was until Töregene.
She was younger than you, the same age as Ögedei, but the fire ignited in her eyes was enough to return back yours.
Both of you are now trapped with a man who commands an entire nation, is respected by those who have yet to see him in person, and holds such prestige and power that none of you could do anything to counter it even if you tried.
Woe is all that consumes you, all that runs in your veins, and what still makes you hope despite the odds stacked against you.
A gale of wind runs through your hair; the strands flutter in the air, and the jingle of your headpiece brings you back to the present night just in time to hear a commotion.
Your half-lidded eyes travel from the grass to the crowd, feet carrying you forward for no other reason than to intrude. The voices achieve their clarity as you draw closer.
A young girl caught for sneaking... huh, you've never seen her before. But then, she claims Töregene to be her master, and you know she's lying.
You and Töregene are each other's only comfort, the only source of trust, the only one you confide in. Your footfalls become faster and your heartbeat unsteady.
Who does she think she is dragging Töregene's name into her tactless schemes?
You open your mouth, ready to cause a ruckus, but then Töregene emerges from the dark with the composure and grace you always admired.
She talks in the girl's favor, affirming the young girl to be her slave. Uncertainty crawls up your chest, eyebrows burrowing as you gaze upon your friend with confusion contouring your face.
When did she become your slave? Why didn't you tell me?
The crowd has mostly dispersed when you're a short distance from them, the Great Kha'an bidding his wives goodbye. You know he enacted that shameless stunt of blowing a kiss from the looks of Kirgistani's heavily flushed cheeks, and even Möge is glowing with joy.
Töregene turns away the moment he speaks to her, and you catch the expression on her face as you meet her eyes.
Trust me, and let me handle it.
And so you do, lettting her walk away with that slave girl meekly following suit.
In over two decades, there never was a time you doubted Töregene, and you won't let your own feelings spoil the love you hold for her.
You better retreat back to your ger, too; there's no reason to be sauntering around if there's no one to collect information from.
"I pray you a good night's sleep, Möge, Kirgistani." The former lightly flinched, the color from her cheeks disappearing while the latter let out a hiss at being suddenly addressed, concealing her mouth behind her sleeve.
Of course, having the naginata perched on your shoulder is bound to draw some reactions. And the fact that they dislike you for the behavior you display in the presence of their husband.
You never held contempt towards the Great Kha'an's other wives; they were neither forced into their current positions nor do they wish to relinquish them. So why would you bother pushing your hatred on to them?
A soft neigh directs your attention away from them, and your lips faintly twitch. You raise your hand and stroke the Great Kha'an's beautiful white horse, your hand stopping to briefly rest on its soft mane.
The animal leans into your touch without resistance. You're about to pull back when the Great Kha'an lifts his hand away from his reins and places it above yours.
He's warmer than usual, you note absentmindedly, possibly from the additional drinking. And to add on to the embarrassment, you couldn't unhear Kirgistani's "HUH?" even if you wanted to.
"Goodnight." The manner in which he says your name still drags goosebumps up your skin, but you show no signs of acknowledgement and gently pull your hand back, turning on your heels to venture back to your ger.
The Second Prince Chatigai's disapproving click of his tongue brings a genuine smile to your face.
You feel the Great Kha'an's gaze linger on the back of your head, and you know that you're doing the right thing. Your flame that once was about to give out has now grown big enough to engulf a nation whole.
You'll die, just like every human does, but not without reclaiming the honor not just the seventeen-year-old you dreamt of, but the one that every version of you deserves.
Ögedei wrenched away every desire of yours by making you compensate in exchange for your freedom; you'll make sure he pays the price with his life.