The morning air carried the crisp bite of the steppe, and yet Ayisulu felt warm—uncomfortably warm—because Prince Arslan insisted she ride beside him.
Not behind.
Not with the group.
Beside him.
He claimed it was for "tactical purposes."
But tactical purposes did not explain the way his gaze brushed her profile every few minutes—quick, subtle glances that he probably thought she didn't notice.
Unfortunately, she did notice.
And it made her nerves hum like a tight string.
Temir rode farther back on a stubborn pony that kept stopping to eat grass. Kanykei rode on Arslan's other side, pretending not to be bothered. Kereg followed behind like an ominous shadow.
But only Arslan made Ayisulu's heartbeat misbehave.
They approached the first narrow pass along the caravan route. Cliffs pressed close on both sides, with shadows deep enough to hide a dozen men.
Arslan leaned slightly toward her to speak—too close, too quietly.
"If you were planning an ambush," he asked, "where would you strike first?"
The warmth of his voice slid along her ear like a touch, and she stiffened before forcing control.
"Why do you assume I would be the one planning it?" she said.
"Because," Arslan replied, "you think like someone who sees more than others. It would be foolish not to ask you."
His sincerity was worse than flirtation.
Ayisulu inhaled.
"This ridge," she said finally. "There are loose stones above. Easy to drop. Hard to defend against."
Arslan followed her gaze. "You saw that quickly."
"You asked."
"And you answered."
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the world shrank—
no steppe, no horses, no princess beside them.
Only two people who understood danger too well, and each other far more than they should.
Kanykei broke the moment with a sharp comment.
"Stones are one thing. Real enemies are another. You shouldn't rely on a villager's guesses, Prince Arslan."
Arslan didn't turn.
Didn't blink.
Didn't acknowledge her attempt to wedge herself between him and Ayisulu.
Instead, he said quietly:
"Her guesses have been correct so far."
Ayisulu pretended not to feel the heat climbing her neck.
They rode onward.
---
The Second Ambush Point
The next location was a narrow river crossing, where the water cut deep into the land. The banks were high; visibility was low.
Arslan guided his horse close again.
"Show me the approach," he said.
Ayisulu pointed. "The left bank. The soil is soft—footprints stay long, horses sink. If someone wants to control movement, they'll block it there."
Arslan studied her face instead of the path.
"Tell me honestly," he said, voice low enough that only she could hear, "how much of this is instinct… and how much is something else?"
Her breath hitched.
He was too close to the truth.
Too perceptive.
Too dangerous.
Ayisulu forced a light tone. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me," Arslan murmured.
And for a moment, his gaze softened—not with weakness, but with curiosity so intense it felt like gravity.
The kind that pulled her in.
Ayisulu quickly looked away.
---
The Wind Changes
Halfway through the day, they stopped at a narrow curve in the road—precisely where Ayisulu had seen flames in her dream.
She froze.
Arslan noticed instantly.
"What is it?" he asked.
Ayisulu tried to hide her tension, but Kereg halted beside them, eyes narrowing.
"She recognizes this place," he said.
Ayisulu exhaled sharply. "It's nothing."
"A lie," Kereg said simply.
Arslan turned his horse fully toward her.
Too close.
Too direct.
Too observant.
He held her gaze with an intensity that made her pulse jump.
"Tell me," he said quietly. "Whatever it is… I want to know."
Her throat tightened.
There—exactly there—was the problem.
He meant it.
When Arslan said he wanted to know something, he didn't stop until he understood everything.
And Ayisulu was not ready to be understood.
Still, she glanced at the ground, then the curve of the hillside, then the sky.
"It feels wrong," she said. "This place. The air. The shadows."
Arslan watched her carefully.
"Because of a dream?"
Ayisulu didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Arslan's expression shifted—something like frustration and concern tangled together.
"Every time you look afraid," he said low, "I want to know why."
Ayisulu's breath caught again.
She tried to step back, but the hill was behind her.
Arslan's horse stepped forward, closing the distance between them even more.
Not touching.
Just near enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence, steady and unsettling.
He lowered his voice.
"And every time you refuse to tell me, I find myself wanting—"
"Prince Arslan," Kanykei interrupted sharply, riding between them, "we should continue."
Arslan didn't move back immediately.
He looked at Ayisulu a moment longer, something unspoken burning in his eyes.
Then he straightened and said:
"Yes. We continue. But stay alert. Ayisulu—ride close."
Her heartbeat did something embarrassing.
Kanykei looked like she wanted to throw her horse into a tree.
---
A Sign from the Sky
As they moved on, a hawk suddenly shrieked overhead—one sharp call, circling tightly above the road.
Ayisulu's blood ran cold.
Her dream.
This was the moment right before—
She grabbed Arslan's sleeve without thinking.
He turned instantly, shocked not by the touch, but by the fear in her eyes.
"What is it?" he demanded.
She didn't have time to explain.
Didn't have time to think.
She leaned closer, her voice barely a breath:
"Arslan—move your horses back. Now."
There was no logic in her tone.
Only urgency.
Arslan didn't question her.
He seized her wrist instead—
tight, grounding, protective—
and shouted:
"Fall back!"
His command cracked through the air.
Everyone obeyed instantly.
They pulled back just in time—
Because a moment later, a boulder crashed down from the ridge, exploding into dust where Arslan had been standing.
Kereg drew his blade.
Kanykei gasped.
Horses reared.
Ayisulu stared at the shattered stone, heart racing.
Arslan turned to her—still holding her wrist—and whispered:
"You saved my life."
Ayisulu tried to pull her hand free.
Arslan tightened his grip just slightly.
"Don't," he said.
Quiet.
Intense.
Unmistakably shaken.
"I want you right here."
Their eyes locked.
The dust settled.
The tension did not.