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🕯️The wooden brush in my hand moved back and forth over the carpet, producing a hollow, rhythmic sound. Distractedly, I kept brushing over the same spot again and again; as if moving the brush could clean not the dirt from the carpet, but the pent-up rage inside me. My knees were red from the icy water, and my fingertips were frozen. Every movement felt like a heavy burden.
I had to break this vicious cycle; if I remained a servant, I knew that eventually, the pashas would exchange me as one of their concubines. Gold pouches and swords flashed before my eyes; the farther I drifted from my dreams, the darker and more iron-like they became. An emptiness wrapped around my body.
I pressed my lips tightly together, my body trembling from the cold water
not from fear, but from the burning mixture of anger and helplessness. Somewhere inside me, I had to find a way to break free from the chains that seemed unbreakable.
Elvin Kalfa struck my head sharply; the echo of the slap vibrated across the carpet and my body, leaving a shuddering impact. Then her distinctive, mocking laughter filled the room, ringing in my shoulders like another blow. My knees were red from the icy water, my hands stiff from the cold; yet, I suppressed the pain and stood up. I brushed my hair back, the mixture of pain and anger forming a harsh line at the corner of my lips.
"What do you really want? Are you going to give me your work again?" I said, my voice cold and sharp, my eyes trembling yet determined. Elvin Kalfa paused for a moment, then widened her grin, as if she took pleasure in seeing my fear.
"Girl, you've seen the Sultan up close… you're thinking about him, aren't you? How was he, huh? Come on! Come on!?" His voice was loud and mocking, each breath echoing in the room's icy, harsh air.
The room suddenly fell silent; only the soft sound of water and the servants' breathing could be heard. All eyes were on me; each servant watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, as if holding their breath to share in the mystery of the moment.
Elvin Kalfa appeared beside me, her footsteps lightly echoing on the wooden floor. Her face was turned toward me, eyes both mocking and curious. She murmured:
"Seeing the Sultan… is almost impossible. No one has really seen him; of course, that's true for any ruler… We only hear about him from whispers, no one else has seen him… Hasodabaşı has, of course; he's the closest man to him."
As her words echoed in the room, I looked at Elvin Kalfa, then averted my gaze. I still didn't understand from whom the Valide Sultan was protecting her son; questions tangled in my mind, and I felt a weight on my chest.
"Alright… that's how it is," I said, my voice quiet but determined.
The room suddenly fell into a breathtaking silence. The eyes of the concubines and servants were on me; all of them were sitting on the floor, staring with a mixture of shock and curiosity. I stepped forward as if onto a stage, setting the bowl I held onto the floor. The hard clink of the bowl echoed across the stone floor, intensifying the silence in the room.
Everyone looked at me strangely; I grinned, a soft laugh mixed into my expression like a quiet victory, and said, "Well, sometimes sacrifices must be made. Everyone, place the purses down." A peculiar joy bubbled inside me; for the first time in a long while, I felt in control—the stage, the power, it was mine.
One by one, the concubines and servants, hands trembling, placed gold coins and purses beside the bowl. I leaned down with a wide grin, taking each coin and purse; my eyes sparkled subtly, as if releasing an energy that filled the room. I caressed the edges of the bowl with my hands as I bent slightly, adding a playful air, like I was enjoying a game.
With a sudden burst of courage, I jumped onto the table, raising my hands high; I could feel the power of my role. "Out there, my hands were shaking from the cold, and now… look at this room?!" I proclaimed in a loud, dramatic tone; the room's silence exploded for a moment, lips parted slightly, and eyes widened.
Just then, a concubine interrupted me; I paused, bowed my head, and scanned the room with my eyes. "Guess… how old do you think she is?" she said, her voice heavy, ominous, and curiosity-laden.
I thought to myself, narrowing my eyes slightly: "Around nineteen, pale-skinned, black hair…" I said. As I imagined the details, my gaze suddenly fixed. The image struck my mind; I tensed slightly, then slowly smiled: "Yes… there was a fur."
The room transformed into a breathtaking scene of dramatic tension, amplified by the light in my eyes and the expression on my face. The servants and concubines watched me silently; the curiosity and a hint of fear in their eyes reinforced both my presence and the authenticity of the moment.
Suddenly, the room was thick with tension; it felt as if everyone's breath had stopped, all eyes focused on me and the head steward. Reflexively, I leaned over the table, lowering my head close to the floor, hands pressed to my knees; my heart pounded rapidly in my chest.
The head steward's voice echoed through the room, sharp and authoritative:
"Well, Lady Ayçil… the rest?"
The hum behind me abruptly fell silent. The concubines lined up behind the head steward bent slightly, their eyes a mix of astonishment and fear. Every movement was carefully controlled; just the head steward's gaze had turned the atmosphere of the room into a sharp silence.
"Are you running a business here!! Elvin Kalfas!! Eslem Kalfas!! And you, Ayçil!! Huh, if someone had seen, tell me immediately who did it?"
The words hit like a slap; the air in the room thickened with pressure. The steward looked at us with the air of a judge, restricting every single move.
Elvin Kalfa spoke, trembling, her voice full of guilt:
"Well… Mistress, truly, it's Ayçil's fault."
My gaze was sharp, my eyebrows furrowed; my lips pressed tightly together. A mixture of anger and disbelief churned inside me:
"What?!"
At that moment, the silence in the room grew even heavier; the concubines' and servants' eyes were fixed on me, their curiosity and fear creating an oppressive weight. Even as I sat on the table, knees resting on it, I felt the tension coursing through my entire body.
The room suddenly fell silent; only the head steward's heavy steps and the stewards' labored breathing could be heard. I quickly got down from the table, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as I rose from my knees. I looked the head steward in the face, without averting my eyes or letting my voice tremble:
"My mistress, I swear I am innocent! Forgive me, it will never happen again!"
My words echoed through the room; the head steward's brows furrowed, but she paused for a moment. Then her voice sharpened like a command:
"AÄźlar! Return the gold to the girls immediately!"
AÄźlar quickly handed the gold pouches back, and the concubines accepted them, both surprised and fearful. The chaos on the table dissipated in an instant; everyone exhaled deeply and slowly left the room.
The head steward scanned the stewards and attendants behind her with a sharp gaze, then turned back to me. Her voice was heavy, authoritative, yet held a hint of approval:
"You… your punishment is death, but fine, I forgive you this time. Ayçil, you are now a servant working in the sultan's chambers. Our late Valide Sultan told me to make sure of this."
The head steward gave a sharp gesture to a nearby steward. The steward, carrying expensive fabric garments with heavy steps, approached me. The head steward looked at me in a stern tone:
"Hold this!!"
At that moment, I took the garments in my hands, my fingers trembling slightly; the weight and responsibility of working in the sultan's chambers pressed heavily on my shoulders. A wave of tension filled the room, between the stewards' breathing and the sharp gaze of the head steward.
The door creaked open slowly, letting the dim light seep in like a mist, half-illuminating the room. The clatter of my steps blended with the quiet, tense breaths of the girls following behind. Some carried deep basins of water, others towels, and a few had various supplies; all of them disrupted the silence in front of me almost reverently.
The door attendants standing at the threshold fixed their stern eyes upon us, waiting with silent discipline. They signaled for me to enter first; my steps were slow, almost hesitant, moving rhythmically into the room. My heart pounded in my chest.
The sultan sat on the bed; his broad shoulders peeked from between the loose buttons of his shirt, which was mostly open, a glass of wine held in one hand. The dim light cast shadows across the sharp contours of his face, intensifying the heavy silence in the room. His eyes were focused sharply on the door, scanning the corners of the room as if measuring every breath, every movement within it.
As I stepped through the doorway, I instinctively lowered my head, a bow of greeting, yet tinged with trembling respect. Time seemed to slow in that instant; my breathing, the soft friction of the supplies being carried, and the slight swaying of the wine in the sultan's glass became the only rhythm in the room.
The dim light in the room cast shadows across the sultan's sharp features, his breathing heavy and irregular. He held the crystal glass loosely between his fingers, finishing the wine in a single gulp; each movement carried a drunken rhythm, slow yet strangely captivating. As he rose and edged closer to the side of the bed, the room seemed to shrink; his presence was both imposing and fragile.
He took the garments from my hands and placed them on the bed; I waited respectfully, avoiding eye contact. He tapped lightly on the mattress; the sound was almost a whisper, low and deliberate: "Sit." I lowered myself beside him slowly and carefully, eyebrows slightly furrowed, a mix of apprehension and curiosity stirring in my chest.
"My sultan, no one in the palace has seen you. It's very unusual… only a few have ever seen you," I said quietly, cautiously.
He exhaled deeply and turned away, his posture indifferent and weary, his voice tinged with a depressive tone: "I want to leave… I want to go as far away as possible." His face was pale, merging with the shadows of the room; the darkness in his eyes reflected a deep exhaustion and hopelessness.
I watched him, trying to understand why he felt this way. Silence settled over the room, broken only by breaths and the weighty air itself. Then, in a thick, tired voice, he leaned against the headboard: "Forget it!"
The room was still filled with dim light; the sultan wore his black caftan and white fur coat, his hair slicked back with a few strands falling over his eyes. In a slightly slurred tone, his voice trembling faintly, he asked:
"Where is the Hasodabaşı? Why hasn't he come?"
Leaning against his chair, I quietly walked behind him and stopped in front. Just as I bent slightly to leave, his voice echoed through the room:
"Wait..!"
He came closer, took my chin, and looked into my eyes: "Why are you like this to me?"
"Why are you behaving this way?" I whispered, my voice low.
"What do you mean? Behav-" Before he could finish, Halit Pasha and the Hasodabaşı entered. The sultan quickly withdrew his hand from my chin, a clear unease crossing his face.
"You leave, hatun!" said the Hasodabaşı, his voice sharp and authoritative.
First, I looked at the sultan; the fear and helplessness in his eyes made me shiver. Then I turned to Halit Pasha, and, bending slightly, I walked quietly toward the door. Each breath I took carried a tension and cold weight as I exited the room.
It was as if he was silently asking for help… But why was he afraid of them? My heart pounded wildly in my chest, my breathing uneven and rapid. He had even poisoned his Valide… So why? How could he carry out such pain with such cold calculation?
The murmurs and hurried footsteps from the harem filled my ears, sending shivers up my spine. I ran, my heart pounding as if it would tear through my chest. Each step collided with the stone floor, and with every impact, the fear deepened.
"Why is everyone in line?" I asked a kalfa, my voice trembling and muffled.
"MenekĹźe Sultan found out whose quarters the former servant's limbs would be in that day," she said, her voice icy and sharp, her eyes gleaming with merciless light.
The first thing that came to mind was the servants' quarters and my belongings. I rushed there, pushed the door open, and scanned every corner. My gaze fell on the rolled-up carpets beside my things.
I lifted one carpet, my hands shaking. I opened it… nothing. My breath caught, my heart thudding in my throat. I lifted a second carpet, my hands trembling so much I could barely hold it. I opened it… and my eyes widened to their limit. Inside the carpet were a woman's limbs, chunks of flesh, an arm and fingers…
Time seemed to freeze. My body stiffened, my breath stopped. A chilling stillness settled over my vision. The room was plunged into silence; only the echo of my heartbeat and the cold, measured breathing of MenekĹźe Sultan could be heard.
"So, you found it," said MenekĹźe Sultan, a sly smirk on her lips as her gaze seemed to measure everything in the room. Her eyes were merciless, cold, harboring a darkness beyond human comprehension.
"Did you do this?" I asked, my voice trembling, muffled, and barely audible.
"You're mistaken! You did it, aghas!! I found the killer, come immediately!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, suffocating me.
The cold stone beneath my feet mixed with the stiff texture of the carpet, and waves of fear spread through me. I was trembling; unable to breathe, unable to think, frozen in the moment. Every breath mingled with the icy air, every glance caught the horrifying details hidden in the carpet.
MenekĹźe Sultan stepped toward me, her gaze cutting through my body as if she could shred it apart. Fear and helplessness intertwined, capturing my mind. I felt the cold breath of death on my skin, surrounded by the darkness emanating from every corner of the room.
Every second grew heavier, time seemed almost to stop, and the shadows in the room pulled me in. The terror within me was so overwhelming that even breathing became a form of torture. This fear… this helplessness… seeped into every fiber of my being.
They threw me into the dungeon. Between cold stone walls, my breath grew shallow; darkness and dampness penetrated me with each inhale. My hands were shackled; I couldn't move, only waiting with fear and despair.
The man gripped the leather part of the whip tightly, a ruthless fury flashing in his eyes.
"Why did you do it, murderer!" he shouted, his voice echoing against the stone walls.
The whip came down hard across my waist. Waves of pain swept through my entire body; my breath caught, and I trembled from the agony. With each strike, my body shook, my vision blurred, and fear and anger mingled inside me.
The whip rose again, and the man's gaze instilled in me a mix of fear and obedience. Almost every breath was filled with pain; my lips were dry, my heart pounding wildly. The cold darkness of the dungeon combined with the agony of the beating, making time feel heavy, every second stretching into endless torment.
I closed my eyes, but the pain and fear echoed relentlessly in my mind. With every strike, a piece of me broke, my soul freezing. At that moment, I felt the distance of freedom, the cold and merciless reality of the dungeon, in all its starkness.
But they didn't believe me. With each lash, my body shuddered, pain spreading through my veins, every movement sending more agony rising within me. When they left me covered in blood, I lay shivering on the cold stones. My body felt almost fused to the floor under the weight of the pain.
It hurt terribly; warm tears ran down my cheeks, muffled moans escaped my trembling lips. My hand instinctively went to my face, trying to wipe away the blood and pain, but my body could no longer resist each blow. Even breathing was torture; my muscles burned, every movement echoed with pain.
My eyes grew heavy, slowly beginning to close. Darkness crept closer, as if trying to engulf me but I resisted. I shook my head sharply, forcing my eyes open. My world was blurred, as though I were underwater, wavering. I couldn't see clearly, yet fear and helplessness screamed in my mind.
The only sound breaking the silence of the dungeon was the echoing footsteps descending the stairs above. Each step pressed heavily on my heart, multiplying my fear. I planted my trembling hands more firmly on the stone floor; every echo carried both hope and a fresh wave of terror.
I forced myself upright. My body screamed in pain, but my gaze remained fixed with determination. As the footsteps drew nearer, goosebumps ran along my skin. Each step traced a fine line between life and death.
My body still clung to the cold stone; exhaustion and pain were intertwined. Moonlight filtered through the window, gently illuminating the dark corners of the room, casting long, quivering shadows on the walls. Each beam of light deepened the silence that weighed in the chamber.
"Hey, girl, sta-" a voice began, fading into the emptiness of the room, almost too soft to hear.
"Leave!" the sultan commanded, his tone strikingly calm. Those words only heightened the tension in the room, making my heart pound faster.
Everyone quietly stepped back, the locks in their hands clinking like metal as they slowly opened the door. They left behind a silent void. The sultan approached me with slow but deliberate steps. Each footfall echoed on the stone floor, merging with the room's silence; like the approaching stillness of death itself.
"You will be executed," he said, in a calm tone, so natural and cold-blooded that my words caught in my throat.
I remained seated. My body shivered, frozen from pain; my eyes were fixed not on him, but on the wall in front of me. The sultan sat beside me, his gaze never leaving mine, as if carefully listening to every breath I took.
"Don't you know? I wish I had never become sultan," he said, his voice weary and fragile, yet still carrying a tone of authority.
He looked at me, and I looked at him. Our eyes locked in a cloudy, tangled silence. In that moment, time seemed to stop; only our breaths, heartbeats, and the faint moonlight in the room existed.
"Did you kill your mother?" I asked, my voice trembling, my lips dry and hoarse.
He sighed and stepped a little closer. He smiled. That smile spread like a beam of light in the dark and cold room; both calming and frightening at the same time.
"You… you are someone else in my heart," he said, looking deep into my eyes, each word carrying a silent weight.
"I don't even know you," I said, the words from my lips almost swallowed by the silence.
"But I know you. Your waist is stained with blood… Menekşe is slandering you, isn't she?" His voice trembled, a mix of delicate curiosity and concern.
I remained silent, turning my head away; the words were tangled in my throat. The sultan stood up and quietly left the dungeon. As the door closed, the moonbeam still danced, but I could no longer see it; I collapsed onto the stone floor in the darkness.
My eyes grew heavy and shut quickly. My body was pressed against the stones, weighed down by blood and exhaustion. Inside me, fear and fatigue merged; a dark wave fell over me. The thin beam of moonlight no longer reached me, only deepening the shadows in the room.
I lay there trembling; my breath caught, my heart pounding wildly. My mind was tossed in a dark void, every breath carrying both pain and helplessness. In that moment, it felt as if all the power and authority in the world had united against me; yet somewhere deep inside, a small but sharp spark of resistance still burned...