The prince's arrival threw the entire village into chaos.
Women rushed to sweep dust that would return in five seconds anyway.
Men tried to stand in heroic poses, even those whose backs disagreed.
Children ran around screaming, claiming they saw at least five princes, maybe six.
Only two people seemed unimpressed:
1. Ayisulu
2. Her cousin Temir, who was currently lying on top of a haystack, eating dried apricots.
Temir was sixteen, lazy in a spiritual way, and proud apprentice of the local shaman—though no one could tell what exactly he had learned.
When Ayisulu approached, Temir didn't even lift his head.
"So," he said, mouth full, "did the prince propose yet?"
"No," Ayisulu replied, "but his horse almost did."
Temir snorted. "Romantic."
Ayisulu ignored him and looked toward the village square, where Prince Arslan was dismounting for the official greeting.
He moved like someone who knew people were watching and judged him by every breath. Not arrogant—just aware. The kind of awareness that came from years of pressure.
The village chief hurried forward, nearly tripping over his own robe.
"Great Prince Arslan! Our humble home welcomes—"
"I'm here for a political survey," Arslan cut in politely but firmly. "Not for worship."
The chief blinked.
The crowd blinked.
Ayisulu almost laughed.
This prince had no patience for theatrics.
Then, someone stepped out from behind Arslan—
a tall, silent man with a sword at his hip and an expression like he'd been born frowning.
Kereg, the prince's bodyguard.
Children whispered stories about him:
"He can hear lies."
"He cuts arrows in the air."
"He hasn't smiled since he was born."
Ayisulu believed all three.
Arslan gave orders quickly: inspect supplies, speak with the elders, evaluate the trade routes. His voice was calm but sharp, a leader who expected obedience without shouting.
Most villagers pretended to understand.
None did.
Ayisulu turned to Temir.
"Why is the Great Khan sending his heir to a tiny place like ours?"
Temir shrugged. "Maybe he's lost."
Ayisulu sighed. "He's the brightest tactician in the Khanate."
"So definitely lost," Temir concluded.
Before she could argue, an elderly woman approached Ayisulu at alarming speed.
It was Akkem, the village matchmaker—famous, unstoppable, and terrified of dying before arranging everyone's marriage.
"Ayisulu!" Akkem grabbed her arm dramatically. "The prince looked at you twice. Twice! That's practically an engagement."
"It is not," Ayisulu said calmly.
"Don't lie to me, girl. The spirits told me—"
"The spirits tell you to drink less fermented kumis," Ayisulu reminded her.
Akkem gasped, offended. "You and your clever tongue! Listen to me—if a prince notices a girl, that is destiny!"
Ayisulu almost smiled.
If only destiny came with clearer explanations.
Before she could escape, a loud voice called:
"Ayisulu!"
She froze.
It wasn't Akkem.
It was much worse.
Shaman Saryk, Temir's teacher, walked toward them wearing twelve necklaces, five feathers, and one expression: dramatic wisdom.
He stopped in front of Ayisulu, narrowed his eyes, and said:
"I sensed… something unusual this morning."
Ayisulu felt her stomach drop.
Oh no.
Not now.
Not in front of half the village.
"What exactly did you sense?" she asked carefully.
"A shift in fate," he declared. "A disturbance in the winds of destiny. A tremor in the threads of—"
Temir cut in. "He means he spilled hot tea on himself."
Saryk glared. "I also sensed you lying down instead of studying."
Temir took another apricot. "The spirits told me to rest."
Ayisulu would have escaped during their argument, but that was when she felt it—
a presence behind her.
She turned slowly.
Prince Arslan stood there.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Too observant.
"I need a guide," he said simply. "Someone who knows this region well."
Every villager within hearing distance straightened.
Some tried to look knowledgeable.
One man pointed at himself proudly, even though he once got lost in his own pasture.
But Arslan's gaze remained fixed on Ayisulu.
"You," he said. "Walk with me."
The crowd erupted in whispers.
Temir choked on his apricot.
The matchmaker fainted dramatically into a pile of wool.
Ayisulu stood still, composed on the outside—annoyed on the inside.
She did not like being noticed too much.
Especially by someone who could read people as easily as he read maps.
Still, refusing a prince was not an option.
Ayisulu stepped forward.
"As you wish, Your Highness."
Arslan nodded slightly, then leaned closer—not flirtatious, just focused.
"Earlier," he said, "when you warned me about my horse… You recognized the danger before anyone else."
Ayisulu met his gaze.
"It wasn't difficult," she replied.
Arslan's eyes narrowed with interest.
"It was," he said quietly. "Most people miss what you see."
Ayisulu said nothing.
She did not like when someone understood her too quickly.
Arslan continued:
"I value people like that. People who notice details that others ignore. So"—
he stepped back—
"be my guide for the survey. I want someone who can interpret… signs."
Ayisulu's heart skipped—not romantically, but logically.
He was testing her.
Evaluating her.
Starting to suspect something.
And she had no intention of letting the prince figure her out too easily.
Ayisulu smiled politely.
"I will guide you," she said, "but I don't guarantee the signs will make sense."
Arslan actually smirked.
"I enjoy mysteries," he said. "Let's see how long you can stay one."
And with that, the smartest prince in the Khanate walked beside the girl who dreamed the future—
both pretending they did not feel the threads of destiny tightening between them.