Chapter 18: The Divorce II

The yurt echoed with the harsh voices of elders shouting over one another—commands, accusations, and appeals wrapped in tradition and pride. Yet amid the storm, Batu sat alone, his ears heavy with silence. His mother's words haunted him—words of loyalty, of duty, of obedience to a path carved by others. But his heart throbbed with guilt and confusion. Enkmaa's strength, her sacrifices—he had honored none.

He didn't know what to do. He only stared at the door, waiting. Not for her, but for the one man she would still listen to: the Tibetan King.

Days passed like frozen wind. Time no longer moved. Then, without warning, the air shifted.

No one saw him enter, but suddenly, the Tibetan King stood within the Great Yurt.

Batu sprang to his feet. "Grandfather."

The old king embraced him tightly. "What has troubled the heart of my little boy?" he asked, his voice roughened with age but tender.

Batu's body sagged in relief. He needed this. Gesturing to a seat, he invited the elder to rest.

Once seated upon the throne, the Tibetan King's gaze turned sharp. "Tonyukuk, speak. What has happened?"

Tonyukuk, the royal strategist, glanced at Batu before laying out the bitter details. The king listened in silence, then nodded. "Enkmaa is a strong woman. If she broke, someone pushed her there."

He stood. "Bring me Delbee."

In a quieter chamber, Delbee bowed low, startled to find the Tibetan King himself. "Your Majesty?"

"What has happened to your mistress recently?" he asked.

Delbee hesitated. "It was… Bolorma…"

He cut her off. "The one from Serpent Wreath?"

Delbee nodded.

The old king's eyes hardened. "Then I must cleanse Batu's court of these snakes."

He marched straight to Enkmaa's yurt. She was seated, her posture poised despite the shadows beneath her eyes. When she saw him, she rose.

"Father-in-law," she greeted, bowing with quiet grace.

He didn't speak in riddles. "Batu wrote to me," he said. "Tell me, child, where should your grandfather begin to mend what is broken?"

And then—he knelt.

The mighty Tibetan King, bowed by years and love, fell to his knees before her.

"Do not forsake the ties that bind us," he pleaded, voice trembling. "You are the Great Khan's wife—the mother of our future."

Before she could speak, the Queen Mother stepped inside.

"Father?" she gasped, rushing to lift him. "What are you doing?"

But the king focused only on Enkmaa. "I traveled the longest road to Ordu-Baliq. I beg you—tell me how to save this marriage."

Enkmaa did not cry. She stood firm, her voice calm yet resolute.

"I respect you, Grandfather. I honor your journey and your heart," she said. "But I cannot sacrifice my dignity. This decision—though painful—is for the good of my soul and our tribe."

The Queen Mother's voice broke. "And your children?"

"I've weighed it all, Amala," Enkmaa replied. "Here, my sons will inherit nothing but silence. But if I go… they may inherit pride."

She breathed deeply.

"I honor the elders who raised me. But a woman must be respected to lead and live with honor. I do not ask for pity—only understanding. My leaving is not rebellion. It is justice."

Her words echoed like ancestral drums in the distance.

The Queen Mother bowed her head. "Her pain is justified," she told her father. "And so is her choice."

Still, the Tibetan King tried once more. "Please… stay."

Tears welled in Enkmaa's eyes.

"I am noble-born. Fiercely loyal. I gave everything to a man. But I can give no more." She paused. "I will not stay."

"Why?" the king asked, broken.

"Because staying would break me," she said, voice steel-sharp. "Especially when women like Bolorma—who never walked through the fire—are now rising from my ashes."

Her voice rose.

"I am the daughter of Khan Baatar Zuun. I wore bone armor before I wore silk robes. I held my head high before I ever bowed it for love."

And then, fiercely:

"If love becomes humiliation, then walking away is not failure. It is freedom."

The Queen Mother placed a hand on the king's shoulder. "She does not need Batu's approval. She needs a battlefield where her voice cannot be silenced… and Bolorma cannot reach her."

"Let her rise. And never look back."

The king, devastated, left the yurt. Outside, he saw Batu waiting.

He hugged the boy tightly. "Your grandfather has failed you," he whispered. "But you… you failed your marriage for politics."

As he stepped away, he added coldly, "Investigate the Serpent Wreath. Bolorma must learn the lesson her dead father never taught her."

---

At dawn, the scouts of the Wolfborn Horde arrived.

Enkmaa stood at the threshold of her yurt. Her once-glorious hair now hung wild and free, like a wolf's mane. The wind howled across the plains, and her eyes glowed with the same fierce light.

"Delbee," she said, voice trembling, "I will not be a shadow in my own home."

Delbee took her hand. "You are not alone, my lady. Whatever comes, I stand with you."

Tears shimmered—but so did hope.

Delbee stirred. "My lady?"

Enkmaa's voice hardened. "I'm no one's 'lady' anymore. Today, I return everything I gave—my love, my loyalty, my name."

---

By midday, she stood in the throne hall before the Great Khan—no silks, no jewelry. She wore the war cloak of her ancestors.

"I am Togtuun of the Wolfborn Horde," she declared. "Daughter of Baatar Zuun. Born of bone armor and wolfblood. I will not be remembered as the woman who stayed silent while her rank was handed to snakes and shadows."

Gasps rippled through the court.

Even Batu dared not meet her gaze.

She faced him.

"My place is where honor lives. I will not be forgotten nor diminished."

"I hereby divorce you, Great Khan Batu of Oghuz."

"I leave not as your wife, but as a sovereign daughter of the steppes."

She looked him in the eye. "Keep your Bolorma. Keep your court. Keep your crown. But you will never again lay claim to me."

Then she turned, her cloak billowing like a war flag. Delbee followed, proud.

The silence was thunderous. Generals and courtiers stood frozen as if the winds of the steppes had stolen the air.

The Great Khan sat still, hands clenched, her words ringing like steel. Enkmaa had always been fire wrapped in silk—but today, she was a storm.

She did not look back.

Her horse waited—loyal, fierce.

With one motion, she mounted. Her robes streamed behind her like the banner of a queen who had reclaimed her destiny.

She rode—not in desperation, but with resolve. Dust rose behind her, a veil dividing what was from what must now be.

The Great Khan remained seated, but it was he who had been left behind.

And though his empire stretched to the horizon, it now felt unbearably small—because the woman who helped him build it had just proved she didn't need it to remain great.

And the whispers began.

"She was not forsaken.

She chose to leave."

And Enkmaa?

She smiled quietly to herself and murmured—

"I am proud to be the first woman

to divorce the mighty Great Khan of the Oghuz."