Sarnai had believed Norjin was still in Karakorum.

  That was why the unexpected reunion felt like the ground had suddenly tilted beneath her. As if the earth had slanted toward him, and she—body and heart alike—had slid back into the heat of Karakorum.

  He worked beneath Yelü Chucai, the difficult old minister trusted by successive Khans. That alone was extraordinary. Blessed with striking beauty and standing nearer to advancement than most men ever would, he showed no attachment—to women, to favor, to ambition.

  He flirted easily. Laughed too easily.

  Too frivolous for a woman to wager her heart on.

  Too unreliable for a schemer to build upon.

  Even now, the memory of those days touched the old wound in her chest, and it began to bleed again.

  The kingdom of Goryeo had once been a tributary of the Mongols, but relations had soured after Mongol envoys were killed. Even before his accession, ?gedei had pressed campaigns against it, and the fighting had dragged on ever since.

  Sarnai had returned on one such rotation—and it was then that she met Norjin.

  She gave her men leave to return to their lands to rest and remained in Karakorum herself, awaiting further orders.

  There, whispers spread among the court women: a new assistant had arrived under Yelü Chucai. Not merely handsome—unsettlingly so.

  They said even the eccentric old Yelü Chucai, who could not abide incompetence, had taken him into his own tent.

  They said the new assistant was a playboy—bright, easy with everyone regardless of rank—and never one to let a beautiful woman pass without a word.

  So when she saw a striking man by a black horse, bending his attention toward a proud court lady, she knew at once who he must be.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, with an admiration so frank it bordered on insolence.

  “The second most beautiful woman I know.”

  “Second?” she demanded, stepping into his space.

  “And who holds first?”

  “My mother.”

  He smiled with disarming innocence.

  For a moment, she only stared at him.

  “Your mother,” she repeated.

  Her expression shifted—irritation dissolving into reluctant amusement.

  “Salt tea would suit you better than sweet,” he offered. She studied him for a heartbeat—measuring.

  “Bayan. M?ge Khatun’s household. You may come and find me this evening.”

  She turned and walked away, unhurried now.

  He watched her go, then turned his smile toward Sarnai. He had noticed her watching. Sarnai hesitated—then walked toward him.

  “Looks like she turned you down,” Sarnai said.

  The man’s mouth curved.

  “Did she?”

  Their eyes met. A shiver ran down her spine. Dangerous? This frivolous man?

  “Sorry,” he said lightly. “I prefer chasing to being chased.”

  “Not confident enough to make a woman chase you?” she shot back.

  He stepped closer.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “You don’t look like a woman who needs to chase.”

  “I prefer to be chased,” she said. “I let them follow me into a trap.”

  “And then?”

  “I kill.”

  His smile sharpened.

  “Think you could?”

  Before she realized it, The next moment, they were in the shadow of a tent—pressed close, their lips pressed together. She didn't even know his name yet.

  The man seized Sarnai’s hand and led her into a vacant tent. They stood facing one another, their eyes locked. He began to unfasten the shoulder buttons of his deel, then the inner ties. Without breaking eye contact, he pushed it open and let the heavy fabric slip from his shoulders. Beneath it, a thin undershirt clung to him. He caught the hem and pulled it up, stripping it away.

  He was the sort who appeared lean when clothed, but without the deel he revealed a broad, heavy-boned frame layered with solid muscle. The sight of his bare chest sent heat surging through Sarnai’s veins.

  She tore at her own buttons, ripping the deel from her shoulders.

  Her breathing grew ragged. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, full and flushed, unabashed. She did not look away either.

  Holding her gaze with eyes darkened by desire, the man reached for her. Sarnai stepped into him and took his hand. Her eyes were already blurred with heat. She slid her arms around his back and held him close.

  Their mouths met. She parted her lips, and his tongue slipped between them, tasting, teasing, drawing a low sound from her throat. Her body burned, as though fire had taken root beneath her skin.

  His hand closed around her breast. She gasped and seized his sash. With a sharp tug, the knot gave way. The sash slipped free and fell in a loose coil at his feet. A heartbeat later, the deel dropped over it. His hands were already beneath her clothes, dragging fabric down her hips. After that, Sarnai could no longer think. She let her hands wander over his bare skin, savoring its warmth, its strength beneath her touch.

  She could no longer remain standing. Her knees buckled. He caught her, but there was nothing gentle in it. He went down with her, pressing her into the rugs, his weight pinning her. He bent over her breast and took her nipple hard into his mouth. Pleasure slammed through her. She cried out, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulders. Her legs rose and locked around his waist, pulling him tighter against her.

  There was no thought left in either of them now.

  Only heat.

  Only hunger.

  Nothing remained to stop them.

  Later, Breathless, he showed no sign of letting her go. He bent to her ear, catching her earlobe gently between his teeth as he whispered his name.

  “My name is Norjin. When you come, call it.”

  A shudder tightened deep inside Sarnai.

  “Sarnai,” she breathed in return.

  Overcome, she caught his hand and pressed it against her breast. His fingers sank into the soft curve of her breast.

  “The sash… pull the sash free,” she pleaded.

  Her deel hung open above and below, kept in place by nothing but the sash at her waist. Norjin pushed himself upright and pulled it free.

  His lips touched her bare stomach, then moved lower, slow and deliberate. Sarnai spread her legs, her hips rising instinctively toward his mouth. She arched toward him, guiding him where she wanted him. She lost all sense of time—of how many times she cried his name.

  At last thirst found her. She pushed herself upright and crawled toward the water jar in the corner of the tent. Her hips trembled too badly for her to stand. Bracing herself against the jar, she lowered her face to the surface and drank. The cold water slid down her throat.

  As she swallowed, hands seized her hips from behind. He came into her again, sudden and relentless. She clutched the jar for balance.Her hair spilled over the rim of the jar, trailing into the water.

  Behind her, his hands closed over her breasts, his mouth pressing against the nape of her neck. His rhythm built, insistent, driving them both forward until her strength failed and they collapsed together onto the floor.

  Even as she tried to crawl away for breath, Norjin caught her. His hands locked around her hips and he thrust deep into her once more. Again and again she cried his name, the sound swallowed by his harsh breathing.

  Yelü Chucai’s tent was chaos.

  Stacks of sealed documents. Unopened boxes. Scrolls crammed into jars. Astrological charts and divination tools scattered in every direction.

  The only orderly space was the desk of the young man Sorghaghtani had recommended—Norjin.

  Living inside the tent itself, ignoring Yelü’s strict warning not to touch anything, Norjin had somehow managed to read nearly every document.

  More than once, when Yelü searched frantically for a missing file, Norjin produced it without being asked.

  Now Yelü asked him first.

  Women could not ignore his beauty, yet he was discreet and efficient. Officials of the Secretariat found him easy to approach. Requests, problems, negotiations all flowed through him.

  He seemed to know instinctively what required Yelü’s judgment and what he could settle on his own. Trivial matters vanished before they ever reached the minister.

  He attended tedious meetings. Delivered messages others would not put to paper. Became indispensable.

  And then, for several days, he disappeared.

  Yelü, who rarely concerned himself with anyone, found himself unsettled.

  On the third day, Norjin returned—unapologetic as ever.

  But something about him had changed.

  And Yelü noticed.