The steppe was calm that morning—too calm, according to the elders, who believed that silence meant spirits were planning something dramatic.
Ayisulu, meanwhile, simply believed silence meant she could enjoy her tea in peace.
Unfortunately, fate disagreed.
Ayisulu was beautiful in a way that made even the wind forget its job: long black hair, a calm face with sharp, observant eyes, and an elegance she pretended she didn't notice. She moved quietly, thought quickly, and lied only when absolutely necessary.
Which, in her life, was often.
She also had a rare ability: she dreamed the future. Not the full future—just small, confusing fragments. Like someone giving her a book but ripping out half the pages.
Her latest dream had been… inconvenient.
> "Beware the black horse," a voice had whispered.
"He brings danger today."
Ayisulu took warnings seriously—mostly because ignoring them usually resulted in embarrassment.
So when she saw a tall black stallion approaching the village, she immediately straightened, narrowed her eyes, and prepared for the worst.
The horse was magnificent, powerful, and apparently very aware of it.
Its rider was even more striking.
He wore the clothes of a nobleman, dark and minimal, but the posture—straight-backed, confident—said "prince" before anyone else did. His gaze was sharp, cold, and focused, like he was already solving three political problems in his head. There was nothing soft or simple about him.
This was Prince Arslan, heir to the Great Khanate.
A young man known for genius-level strategy, impossible archery skills, and enough charisma to make diplomats forgive his arrogance.
The villagers stared in awe.
Ayisulu stared in suspicion.
Her dream had never been wrong about animals.
She stepped forward to warn him. Not because she cared about the prince—she did not even know him—but because the future tended to punish her more than anyone else if she ignored these things.
Arslan dismounted smoothly, glanced at the crowd… and his eyes landed on Ayisulu.
For a moment, he paused.
Not because of her beauty—though it was truly striking—but because she was the only one not bowing, gasping, or trying to impress him.
She looked at him as if he were simply another traveler.
That was new.
"Your Highness," Ayisulu said politely, "your horse may be planning something unfortunate."
The crowd went silent.
Arslan raised one eyebrow—just slightly, but enough to show amusement.
"My horse?" he repeated. "Planning?"
"He has… a certain expression," she explained carefully. "A pre-attack face."
The stallion snorted proudly, as if offended by the accusation.
Arslan glanced at it, then back at her.
His gaze sharpened, assessing her like a puzzle he wanted to solve.
"You speak as if you know the future," he said.
Ayisulu smiled lightly. Smart people always asked that question quickly.
"Only on good days," she said.
Before Arslan could respond, the stallion suddenly jerked forward—its reins slipped, the saddle twisted, and in the next heartbeat the horse bolted.
Straight toward Ayisulu.
Gasps rose from the villagers.
Arslan moved instantly. Not like a noble, but like a warrior trained since childhood—fast, precise, almost frighteningly controlled. He caught the reins, twisted the horse's head, and forced the stallion to stop just a breath away from Ayisulu.
Dust swirled around them.
The stallion pawed the ground angrily.
Ayisulu blinked once.
"Well," she said calmly, "that was the unfortunate part."
Arslan looked at her again, this time with clearer interest.
"You were right," he admitted. "Most people notice signs too late. You saw them early."
Most men would praise her beauty.
He praised her observation skills.
That was interesting.
Ayisulu tilted her head, surprised—and slightly cautious. She didn't like people who could see through her too easily.
"I pay attention," she said simply.
"So do I," Arslan replied.
And it was true. He was studying her—not in the way men admired a pretty girl, but in the way a strategist analyzed another strategist.
Ayisulu suddenly understood one thing:
this prince was trouble.
Not because he was dangerous—though he probably was—
but because smart men were always harder to fool.
And she preferred a world where she was the mysterious one.
Arslan gave her a small, unreadable smile.
"I believe," he said, "I will need to speak with you again."
Ayisulu felt every instinct in her body whisper:
Run.
But she only bowed slightly and murmured,
"As you wish, Your Highness."
Arslan mounted his horse again, the stallion now oddly obedient.
As he rode toward the village center, his eyes flickered back to her once more—calculating, curious, almost amused.
Ayisulu sighed.
Her dream had been correct.
The black horse did bring danger.
She just hadn't realized the danger would arrive holding the reins.