“It is every man’s dearest wish,” he grins, spinning a laughable image of himself stood in court, clad in some fine fussy filigree.
Emperor Téng Shénléi is not his khan, and by his concubine’s own concession, he does not give orders in this land. Still, the nomad's interest had grown in this party, imagining a bloated, wealthy willow people.
“I'd take a dry place to rest,” he resumes, stilling as she does. “And your name.”