It had been three seasons of thunderous charge and steel-clad fury, the Empty Quarter’s tribes behind her banners like a living storm. Now Alakhai Khan sat astride her stallion on the plains outside the fallen capital, the last son of the Palatine standing before her having come to submit his dead father's empire. Around them, Talaskar and tribal horsemen formed a halo of lances and fluttering flags.

She looked at then gestured with her hand, wanting him to show his submission, making him do it before her army and the tattered remains of his own.

“Kneel Prince. Show me how willing you are to end the blood shed. Submit to me, Khagan Alakhai.”