The Sultan abruptly withdrew his hand from my chin. I immediately lowered my head, silent.
"Mother, welcome," he said with a graceful smile, though his eyes seemed lost in deep thought.
The Valide Sultan stepped into the room. She was elegant, yet her face was pale as ash; it was as if she carried the weight of years, battling an unseen illness. She wore a plain black gown, a dark gray shawl draped over her shoulders… Her eyes slid over me, but she said nothing.
It was as if she filled the room while deliberately erasing my existence. Her voice carried both sharp authority and a fragile undertone:
"Menekşe and Fatma… They have just fought. They disgraced themselves—pulling hair, clawing at each other. And both of them hold the title of Sultan, though neither has borne a son. Such disgrace is intolerable."
Her words hung heavy in the air. I looked at her in fear, cold sweat sliding down my skin. My heart pounded wildly, and I struggled to steady my breath.
The Sultan pushed his thick black hair back. When his gaze met the Valide's stern eyes, a sharp, mysterious tension spread through the chamber. The silence became suffocating; it was a moment when even time seemed to hold its breath.
Noticing the Sultan's silence, the Valide narrowed her eyes at him. Her voice wavered between iron and fragility:
"How do you intend to send them away?"
The Sultan remained silent; the echoing stillness in the room grew so heavy it seemed to rob us of breath. Who was he afraid of? Why did the words refuse to leave his lips?
"You… you are the Sultan! Why do you stay silent?" The Valide Sultan's voice trembled, yet the resolve in her eyes was unshaken. "My son… your father's untimely death, and your indifference… I know."
I stood quietly in the corner, head bowed. I drank in every word, following them with my eyes. My heart raced, and I tried to steady the rhythm of my breath.
Then, all at once, the Sultan drew a deep breath and walked out of the chamber with quiet steps. What remained was the Valide Sultan's piercing gaze; the air itself was heavy, like the silence before a battle.
Slowly, the Valide Sultan turned her head toward me. Her eyes swept over me with such intensity it felt as though she could uncover even the smallest tremor of fear within me.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice sharp, authoritative, demanding.
"I am a servant of the harem," I answered, head bowed, my voice trembling. The words struggled to leave my throat.
The Valide Sultan took a step forward, her eyes fixed on me with unwavering scrutiny. Every movement was sharp, every look an interrogation.
"You… are you not the gift sent to our Sultan? Why are you not among the concubines of the harem?" Her voice echoed in the chamber, stern and commanding.
"Gift?" Slowly, I raised my head and looked into the Valide Sultan's face. In her eyes, curiosity and suspicion mingled with an unyielding hardness, as if she could strip away my secrets one by one.
My heart was racing, my hands trembling against my will. In that moment, I felt small, fragile yet in some strange way, strong. The Valide Sultan's deep gaze weighed my past and my present all at once.
"So, who exactly are you trying to deceive with this 'gift', hmm?" Menekşe Sultan's voice thundered through the corridor. The double doors swung open with a crash, and the air in the chamber grew heavier still.
The Valide Sultan turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting Menekşe Sultan's. Her voice was cold, stripped of emotion:
"Menekşe… you are unmatched when it comes to eavesdropping."
Menekşe Sultan stepped forward with harsh, deliberate strides until she stood face-to-face with the Valide Sultan. Her blue eyes burned with fire, her jaw clenched as she glared:
"You knew she was a gift?"
The Valide Sultan's gaze locked suddenly onto Menekşe's. A short silence hung between them, so tense it seemed even breath had fled the room.
"I have just learned," she replied, steady yet with a faint tremor of resolve.
Menekşe Sultan's voice rose, echoing against the walls in a chilling tone:
"You must get rid of her immediately! If not, then I will… she will die in torment." Each word was as sharp and merciless as a blade, dripping with menace, defying anyone to oppose her.
The Valide Sultan looked at her with disgust, a faint twitch pulling at the corner of her eye. Then, slowly, she turned back to me:
"Come with me, Ayçil."
At that, Menekşe Sultan let out a shrill scream of fury, her rage tearing through the silence of the Sultan's chambers. She hurled whatever her hands found against the walls, shattering the stillness into chaos. The servants froze in horror, their eyes wide with shock.
The Valide Sultan began walking toward the doors with heavy, deliberate steps. I followed close behind, careful with every footfall. As her gaze swept toward Menekşe Sultan, she suddenly paused, as though unable to confront the full force of her fury.
Menekşe Sultan pressed forward with sharp, defiant strides. Each step shook the corridor, each breath radiated challenge.
"Old hag! I will tell my brother myself!" Her scream echoed through the chamber, rattling the glass, freezing the servants in horror.
The double doors creaked open slowly. The Valide Sultan quickened her pace, and I trailed silently after her. The corridor was dark, the stone floor cold and unyielding. Every step we took only thickened the tension, while Menekşe Sultan's venomous voice still reverberated down the halls.
Suddenly, the Valide Sultan turned to me, grasping my shoulders tightly. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her voice trembling:
"I know this will sound absurd, but… I entrust my son to you, Ayçil. Do not leave him among snakes. Do not cast him into the pit…"
Her legs trembled beneath her; her tear-filled eyes met mine with broken breaths.
"I am sorry, my Sultan… I—" I faltered. What was I trying to say? Why did the words knot in my throat? My family had perished before my eyes. Perhaps it wasn't only my family I had lost, but my feelings as well.
"I am very ill… struck with a merciless sickness. When I cough… blood fills my mouth. My time is short, my son…" Her eyes swelled with tears as her hand rose to cover her face, her voice breaking into a sob:
"The empire may be ruled by my son… but my son is ruled by a power greater than himself… ah, my precious boy…"
Her trembling voice, her hands, her very body seemed to sink under the crushing weight of her burden.
"Valide Sultan… what you could not do, no one else can," I whispered, soft yet resolute.
For a moment, she looked at me and nodded faintly.
"Once you set foot in this palace… there is no leaving it again," she said.
"Whom am I to protect him from?" I asked, my breath tightening in my chest.
She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. "My son… though he does not know, I have always protected him. At times, he was forced to punish me… but the pashas, the sultanas… and a faction beyond these walls… and my son himself… have killed me, Ayçil."
The tears slid down her cheeks, falling heavily from her chin.
"The son I cherished more than my own life… commanded them to poison my food every day."
Her voice trembled, her body seemed to collapse beneath its own weight. She leaned her back against the palace's cold wall, coughed… and her eyes slowly drifted shut.
Time itself seemed to freeze. She crumpled to the ground. The servants rushed to her side, their trembling hands grasping the lifeless body of the Valide Sultan. I could only stand there, my heart wracked with sobs, my breath strangled, my eyes filled with horror and helplessness.
Amid the cold walls of the palace, the Valide Sultan's death sank into silence. In that moment, time stood still; only a lost power, a vanished hope, and a profound sorrow surrounded me.
Her face was covered with a white shroud; we had lost her… Restless silence haunted the palace. Three days had passed, yet the emptiness still clung to every corner.
In the harem, sweet halva was distributed to all. The sultanas, seated in the palace's splendor, watched everything around them with quiet but heavy gazes. Fatma Sultan and Menekşe Sultan, though cousins, bickered like children.
"By our Padishah's permission, I will take charge of the harem," declared Menekşe Sultan, her voice sharp and self-assured.
"You? Or me? I think you misspoke," replied Fatma Sultan, her lips curled into a mocking smile, her tone dripping with derision.
"Of course, me," said Menekşe Sultan, her eyes flashing with defiance.
"Hmm… yes, surely you," Fatma Sultan muttered, her voice still biting, though beneath it a simmering anger lurked.
In the harem, no one dared to make a sound; only their clashing voices echoed through the air. Between the grand walls of the palace, those voices grew louder, turning their childish yet merciless quarrel into something greater.
Just then, I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I spun around quickly and bowed. The moment my eyes met the figure before me, my heartbeat quickened against my will.
"Ayçil, the Padishah summons you," said the eunuch, his voice stern yet hesitant.
I knocked softly on the wooden door and stepped inside. The floor creaked beneath my feet, the sound reverberating through the room. My knees trembled slightly; I bowed my head and waited.
"You sent for me," I whispered, my voice low and trembling, struggling to steady my breath.
At that instant, my arm was seized with sudden strength, and my body was pulled against his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, their rhythm beating in time with my own breath.
"Padishah—" I tried to speak, but my words caught in my throat. He silenced me.
"In this moment, I am no Padishah before you… only a wounded man," he said. His voice quivered; every word carried pain, every breath exhaustion. He rested his head upon my shoulder, his warm breath brushing against my skin. My heart raced uncontrollably, as strange comfort and fear tangled inside me.
For a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to freeze. The silence of the chamber was filled only by his heavy breathing and the thunder of my heart. From outside, a gentle breeze stirred the curtains, turning the atmosphere into something cold, haunting, and almost cinematic.
"I am your servant… if anyone hears, it won't be well received," I said, my face betraying no emotion. My voice didn't tremble; my words were cold, mechanical but inside, a storm raged.
"I lost my mother, and it's been very hard for me…" he paused, taking a deep breath. His voice, murmured yet firm, carried the weight of unspoken pain: "Who could ever find that easy?"
I just stared at him; my eyes locked onto his, but I said not a single word. In that moment, time in the room seemed to flow sluggishly; our breaths intertwined with the silence, forming an unspoken rhythm.
Slowly, his fingers moved over the bed, brushing against my hair. The touch of his fingertips on my strands sent a shiver through me. Something long suppressed stirred inside me, yet I remained silent.
Then, with a quiet step, I sat beside him. His hands instinctively sought comfort and protection, resting on my shoulders. My heart raced, my breathing grew heavy. In that moment, there was nothing else in the room; only two people, fragile and weary, leaning into each other, trapped in a wordless moment…
The dim light of the room, combined with the heavy shadows along the walls, made every movement of his seem sharper, more threatening. The black satin of his robe clung to broad shoulders and taut muscles, casting a suffocating weight over the atmosphere. His eyes were bloodshot, black hair combed back with a few strands fallen across his face; his jawline was sharp, his gaze both pained and authoritative.
I held my breath, staring at him in silence. Words were stuck in my throat, unable to escape.
"Why… maybe she was slowly poisoned to death, but you knew it, and yet-" I began, before his hand grabbed my shoulder. His grip was so firm that I flinched. His face drew close, and I could feel his breath, warm and heavy, against mine.
"I had no choice… Now stop talking, leave the room," he said, his voice low, firm, and utterly in control. Every word echoed in the room, pressing down on my chest.
I rose quickly, my heart tangled in my chest. I fixed my gaze on him, but the sultan remained lying on the bed, his broad back turned toward me. I bowed slightly, keeping my head low, and walked toward the door in silent submission. Each step of mine seemed to echo, yet he did not look at me; his gaze was lost elsewhere, merged with the stillness of the room.
At the threshold, I paused briefly, holding my breath. His presence still hung heavily in the room like a shadow; the simple rhythm of his breathing, the faint movement on the bed, made me tremble. I slowly opened the door and stepped out silently, leaving the warmth and shadow of the room behind me.