Out past the last gate, hawks drew fine lines on a blue page. The Khan rode like a sentence that refused needless words. His laughter came quickly and left no wounds.
"Duty is a road," he said. "Freedom is the steppe."
"What if the road returns home by choice?" she asked, and traced a route that wandered and still arrived. "I would never tie you down," she added, voice light as reins on a good horse. "Your freedom makes me happy. Only… when the winds are kind, come home and visit me."
He laughed—fast, delighted. "Ask, and I will always return," Jaghatai said. "Always."
She smiled. "Then ride with me now—through the palace streets. Let's make the Custodes run after us."
He threw back his head and laughed loud and true. "Let us see if gold can keep up with wind." Before he left, he offered her a horse‑name in his language—a gift that means you belong where wind belongs. When she spoke it, the air took notice and made room, and the two of them were already a blur along the inner avenues while the Custodes gave dignified chase.