When I stepped into the grand palace, my eyes were blinded. Stone walls dominated by shades of brown and yellow, soaring domes, and gilded decorations… This was a completely different world.
The harem was filled with the scent of soap and coffee; the aroma gave a strange mix of comfort and unease.
All eyes were on me. The girls, sitting on velvet cushions, scrutinized me with condescending glances. Whispers scratched at my ears; their lips moved, but I couldn't understand a word. I could only feel that I was being judged.
At that moment, a stern-faced woman approached me. She thrust a piece of fabric into my hands.
"Take this and put it on," she said, her voice sharp as a whip.
She gave me a disdainful look and walked away.
I took the fabric: a simple yet finely embroidered dress in shades of blue and white. Silently, I put it on and braided my hair from the bottom. When I looked in the mirror, the person staring back was no longer a warrior she was a servant.
A faint ache settled inside me… as if my sword had been ripped from my hands and chained away. But deep in my eyes, the spark was still there.
As I walked toward the kitchen, my lips pressed into a straight line. This was not my plan; I did not want to be a servant. But fate had taken my sword and placed a tray into my hands.
I carried the food to the girls inside the harem. They chatted cheerfully while I stood silently beside them. After they finished eating, I and the other girls of the same rank collected the plates. Lifting the tray with the silence of a servant, I started walking, when suddenly…
"Hatun!"
The voice pierced my ears, but I kept walking as if I hadn't heard. Suddenly, a hand gripped my arm so tightly I had no choice but to stop.
"Aychil! I'm talking to you."
I turned my eyes toward her. Standing before me was a middle-aged woman, her commanding tone and sharp gaze pinning me in place. She had pale skin, was of average height, and on her face sat a stark black mole like the point of a blade.
The moment I saw her, a chill ran through me. I had heard her name before the most ruthless mistress of the harem. She spared no one, always cornered her prey. Whoever won her favor would rise; whoever crossed her path would live in hell.
Elvin Kalfa pressed her hand hard against my arm with a mocking smile. "Take this bucket. I'm tired. You do it. And next time I pass by, bow your head understand?" Her voice rang through the room, dripping with contempt.
I lifted my head, narrowing my eyes at her; my brows furrowed sharply. A fire burned inside me. In a cold tone, teeth clenched, I answered:
"Why should I do your work? Do it yourself!"
Elvin's face darkened with sudden rage. She narrowed her eyes, raising her voice so everyone around could hear, and shouted in a threatening tone:
"I'll have you flogged! Fifty strokes! That'll teach you what it means to obey!"
Her words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. She lifted her brows as if savoring an early victory. A few of the women nearby whispered among themselves, their hushed tones carrying the sound of amusement. I gripped the bucket tighter; my palms, already calloused, pressed against the handle as a cold, unwavering defiance burned inside me.
The damp air of the kitchen, the clatter of metal pots, the faint aroma of coffee drifting in from afar all of it seemed to slow, every detail like a frozen frame. And in that stillness, with the cold determination in my eyes, I knew exactly who would own that moment.
The shadow of the harem master fell over us. His thick brows furrowed as his gaze burned with fury. The deep, impatient timbre of his voice silenced the murmurs in an instant.
"What is going on here?!" he thundered. "Why are you not at your work? Do you think you're sultanas yourselves?"
Elvin Kalfa transformed at once. The sharp tongue, the mocking gaze gone. Like a chameleon changing colors, she painted her face with feigned innocence. Bowing her head, she spoke in a meek, servile tone:
"Never, my lord! Head mistress Melike Hatun had ordered Aychil to scrub the wooden planks in the garden. We were merely reminding her of her duties."
Anger boiled within me. In that instant, I understood this was her game. The ters köşe, the cruel twist. A woman who fed her ego by crushing those beneath her, now expertly shifting blame to someone else.
The master's eyes turned to me, sharp and probing. I clutched the bucket's handle tightly, storms raging inside, yet kept my head held high.
Elvin Kalfa, seizing the moment, bared her teeth in a grin and hissed:
"She's just a child, my lord."
His words hung in the air. Inside me, two fires clashed: should I remain silent and submit, or break this game with the cold determination in my eyes…
I shot him a sharp glance and stepped into the garden. I gripped the handle of the bucket so tightly that my palms burned, my fingers reddened and went numb. The pain in my body had become a strange pleasure I had grown accustomed to it, learned to live with it.
The garden stretched as far as the eye could see. A misty atmosphere prevailed, the sky shrouded in leaden clouds. A freezing wind whistled through the branches, weighing down the air. The crowd of people spread like a murmur: concubines knelt, scrubbing the tiles; the kalfas stood over them like shadows, issuing commands. Servant girls like me were worked in groups, each burdened with different tasks.
Long, wet planks were stacked at the front of the garden. The masters would use them, though they were caked with mud and dust. I bent over and began scrubbing with a cloth dipped in water. The wood was so slippery that my hands kept sliding, my knees hitting the ground. I tried to wipe the sweat from my forehead with my palms, but realized it wasn't sweat it was the dampness of the misty air running down my face. My breath fogged and mingled with the chill.
"Good luck!"
I lifted my head. He wore a kaftan lined with black fur. His broad shoulders and rigid posture immediately set him apart from the others. His jawline was sharp, his face stark white; his skin almost reflected light like polished marble. His high rank was evident. I flinched involuntarily as our eyes met.
"Thank you," I said, my voice cold.
But he didn't leave. He was still watching me. I tried to keep the cold expression on my face, but my hands trembled; I couldn't tell whether it was from the cold or from the weight of his gaze.
I lifted my head and looked at him again. His eyes were like deep, dark black, yet they seemed to hide a fire within.
"You—" I began, but the word froze on the tip of my tongue.
Suddenly, sounds echoed through the garden:
"My Sultan!.. My Sultan!"
The harem aghas ran forward. Everyone dropped to their knees in a hurry. I immediately bowed my head and lowered myself to the ground.
Footsteps approached—heavy, resonant steps… The swish of fabric, the faint jingle of sword hilts… and a deep silence.
Then, something unexpected happened. The Sultan bent down and took my hands. My icy fingers melted into his warm palms.
Everyone in the garden held their breath. The servants, concubines, kalfas… all of them watched this moment as if piercing through it with their eyes. Reflexively, I pulled my hands back. Kneeling there, trembling, my heart felt like it would burst from my chest.
"My Sultan, why are you avoiding us? Someone will see," said one of the aghas, their voice quivering.
The Sultan didn't utter a word. His long kaftan billowed like the wind as he walked away with heavy steps.
that moment, a murmur spread through the garden. All eyes were on me. Some whispered, others rolled their eyes.
I quickly reached for the bucket; the cold metal cut into my palms. I bowed my head and began walking with quick steps.
I was trembling. Not so much my hands as my knees… It wasn't the cold it was shame and fear. My heart still remembered the warmth of the Sultan's fingers, yet eyes were fixed on me like daggers in my back.
Finally, I reached the large room where the palace staff had gathered. As soon as I opened the door, laughter and whispers rose from inside. Almost everyone was there.
And as I stepped further in, silence fell. Every eye turned toward me.
It felt as if a knot had formed in my throat. Each swallow made it tighter, making it hard to breathe. Speaking seemed worse than carrying the weight of this tension.
"Shhh!" whispered Elvin Kalfa, her eyes flashing. "Sabi, they saw you with the Sultan. No one's ever seen the Sultan what was he like? Young?"
A thin voice spoke from the other corner of the room:
"I hope they didn't see you if word reaches the Sultan's ears "
One of the aghas leaned forward, curious:
"What did the Sultan say to you? Did you speak?"
It felt as if the walls were closing in on me. Not even five minutes had passed, and already the rumor had spread like poison through the veins of the vast palace.
My breath quickened. My hand instinctively gripped the bucket tighter.
"Y-you… what are you talking about?" I said, my voice hoarse and tired. It didn't even feel like my own; it sounded like a stranger's voice.
"The girl… they saw you," said Elvin Kalfa, her thin lips curling with mockery.
The bucket slipped from my fingers and hit the floor. The dirty water inside had turned a murky gray, with the rag floating on top without fully sinking. I just stood there for a moment, staring.
"I have no idea," I said, my voice trembling but my words dripping with a hint of mockery. "Who am I… and who is the Sultan…"
My words echoed in the room, but no one looked convinced.
I sat down on the sponge. The weight of exhaustion draped over my shoulders like a heavy blanket. My breath rose and fell in my chest slowly, echoing with a deep, uneasy rhythm. Squinting, I tried to avoid the curious eyes fixed on me.
"Look at this little servant! Oh, so young and poor thing… she won't last till tomorrow, she'll die!" Elvin Kalfa let out a mocking laugh. Others snickered after her.
I opened my eyes wide and stared directly at everyone. The fatigue still pressed on my shoulders, but the anger building inside me pushed each droplet of weariness aside.
"What does age have to do with it?" I said, my voice trembling but sharp.
Elvin Kalfa scanned my back, a line of ridicule forming on her forehead.
"You're small, you've tasted no pain. Seventeen-year-old girls have died here, little one… I'm serious. Hopefully this doesn't reach the Sultan's ears!"
At that moment, everyone focused on the Kalfa's words, but I didn't look at them. I stared at Elvin Kalfa with a distant expression. My eyes were calm on the surface, yet a storm raged inside me. All the heavy burdens I had carried, the suppressed pain, flashed before my eyes. My eyes welled up, but I fixed my gaze with hatred and determination.
"Don't scare her, Elvin," another Kalfa said, her voice trembling slightly.
Elvin, however, let out a mocking laugh. "Ah, fate, what can you do!" she said, her words hanging in the air.
I slowly brought my hand to my eye, pressed my fingers against my temple, and lifted my head. In a cold, sharp tone:
"Fate?"
A thin-voiced girl spoke up, trembling but curious:
"Uh… Elvin Kalfa, what do you mean by fate? Love? Or… death?"
Elvin Kalfa answered with a sly smile:
"Girl, death, of course."
At that moment, silence fell. The cold air, the sound of our breathing, and a faint wind from afar… everything made the shadow of death feel heavier.
Death… I didn't care in the slightest. I had little reason to survive, yet I chose to play the part anyway.
My voice trembled slightly as I asked:
"When you say… death… what kind of death?"
Elvin Kalfa let out a short laugh, her eyes glinting:
"Girl, gossip spreads quickly. But you… you're still so fresh, so new."
The Harem Ağa's voice cut sharply through the room, authoritative and commanding:
"Now, get up! Back to your work!"
I quickly turned my gaze. Everyone returned to their tasks, yet something stirred inside me. It wasn't fear of death; it was anger and determination… I refused to be a mere pawn on this chessboard.