Time seemed to dissolve against the stone walls of the dungeon.
Watching the sun rise, set, and rise again within the same darkness blurred the days into one another. The sky had become nothing but a pale streak slipping through the narrow window of the cell. The dim light fell upon the stone floor, flickering there like a brief spark of hope. In the midst of the darkness, that pale light felt like the only thing that hadn't forgotten me.
I slowly lifted my head. I watched as the shaft of light from the window illuminated the drifting specks of dust. Each mote suspended in the air reminded me of my past: the battles, the betrayals, the escapes, the oaths… The resistance inside me seemed to have cracked. My eyes filled with tears; the struggle to survive had become nothing more than a scar. Quickly, I raised my hand and wiped the tears away with my fingers.
I had to save the prince. But first… how was I going to escape this stone coffin?
I pressed my hands against the ground; the chill of the stone sent a tremor through my palms.
The Sultan leaned against the stone wall before me. Two bottles sat in front of him; one toppled over, the other still half full. His black, disheveled hair fell across his forehead, hiding him in shadow. He had turned his head slightly to the side, eyelids closed, lost in a deep sleep. Yet this sleep was more than mere exhaustion it was a surrender.
I rose slowly to my feet.
My heart pounded wildly in my chest; every breath seemed to echo off the walls. I covered my mouth with my hand, afraid even the sound of my breathing might betray me. The dungeon reeked a heavy scent of mildew, rust, dampness, and dead dreams.
I took careful steps.
Puddles between the stones fractured the light with every movement, swallowing the Sultan's silhouette into fleeting shadows. I sank to my knees, feeling along the floor with my hands.
The keys…
They had to be somewhere.
My heart clenched as my fingers brushed the edge of the Sultan's robe. I checked his pockets empty. I drew a deep breath and pulled back.
Just as hope began to fade, a glint caught my eye beside one of the bottles.
I leaned down. A small metallic reflection on the cold stone…
"This must be it," I whispered.
I grabbed the bundle of keys; rust from the metal stained my hands, my fingertips blackened.
I approached the lock, holding my breath on my knees, trying each key one by one.
Each key slid into the lock like a promise, but none turned.
"None of them…" I muttered in a low voice. My words bounced off the stone walls, then silence returned.
And at that moment,
a cold voice sliced through the air behind me.
"Looking for this?"
Every muscle in my body tensed.
I turned slowly.
The Sultan was standing.
In his hand, a single key gleamed like a metallic line in the dungeon's dim light.
His face was as expressionless as stone no anger, no mercy, nothing at all.
Only in those dull eyes was a darkness that recognized me.
"Going to save the prince?" he asked.
His voice rumbled deeply, shattering the echoes of the stone walls.
I paused for a moment. I swallowed hard, then answered with resolve:
"Yes."
The Sultan's eyes narrowed. In the dim light, the irises seemed almost black.
"You can go nowhere!" he said. His voice was neither a shout nor a whisper… it was just a threatening echo.
Every word weighed down the air even more.
"If you don't let me-"
Before I could finish, he moved sharply toward me.
His steps echoed on the dungeon's stone floor; even the weight of his boots seemed to command.
"How dare you, Ayçil?" he said.
Squinting, he tilted his head slightly.
"Are you threatening me?"
I swallowed, but I was not afraid. I lifted my head and whispered, locking eyes with him:
"I'll tell the people I stole too."
A moment of silence… then a laugh.
But this laugh was neither joy nor amusement;
it was muffled, sharp, and contemptuous.
It echoed off the walls, then cooled and vanished into the silence of the dungeon.
"Try to get out of here first!" he said, suppressing his laughter, his voice taking on an even darker tone.
He stepped closer.
His face was almost touching mine.
The sharp scent of alcohol mixed with his breath; in his eyes, a strange blend of amusement and anger sparkled.
"So, you dare to challenge me…" he said in a low voice.
He twisted the key with his fingers, the metallic sound reverberating through the dungeon.
"Try to escape, Ayçil. If you can…"
The Sultan advanced toward the dungeon door with heavy steps. The sound of his armor and boots striking the stone floor echoed down the cold corridor, leaving a long, lingering resonance. His eyes swept over the aghas around him; his voice carried a command as cold as lightning:
"Do not leave this place."
The words were short, commanding, and sharp. The aghas exchanged a brief glance, then, guided by duty, lined up like a wall along the stone corridor of the dungeon. The metal of their weapons flickered in the candlelight, and their faces held a stony vigilance.
The Sultan took a step or two closer; his breath was still heavy, his rhythm uneven, but his gaze had sharpened. Then, in a lower, almost incantatory tone, he whispered though the words did not reach my ear, the expression on his face spread throughout the cell:
"If your hands falter, you will cease to exist as well."
The utterance was less a threat than a cold decree; behind the words lay both warning and a kind of calculation. He turned his back sharply; the shadow behind him stretched, and the candlelight flickered as he passed. His footsteps merged with the darkness of the corridor, and the silence he left behind grew heavier, as if the stones themselves had swallowed the sound of his steps.
My voice came out both weary and furious; the words echoed off the dungeon walls. The Sultan paused for a moment, swung his gaze toward me at shoulder height, then took slow steps toward the bars. The expression on his face was unreadable, veiled in a cold shadow.
"What leads you to ask such a question?" he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to slice through the air.
A wave of anger mixed with fear rose inside me. Summoning all my strength, I lunged forward. I grabbed the Sultan's collar through the bars and slammed him up against the iron grate. The metallic clash of his chest against the bars rang through the dim dungeon. His face was turned toward me, but lost in shadow so I could not read it clearly. I held on so tight it was hard for him to break free.
I slipped the shard of glass I'd hidden in my skirt into my hand and, steady despite my tremor, pressed it to his throat. In the dim light the razor edge glinted with a thin red flash. My breath came fast and harsh; even the cold dungeon walls seemed to feel the heat of my sweat.
"Tell them… let them take me out!" I shouted. My voice rebounded off the stone and came back as an echo.
A shadow of anger and astonishment crossed the Sultan's face. His eyes burned like coals in the dark; he neither stepped back nor seemed to heed the blade at his throat. For a moment the dungeon fell into a silence so thick you could scarcely breathe.
"What do you think the crime is in taking a sultan hostage? Foolishness, Ayçil," the Sultan said dismissively, his voice bouncing off the stone.
At that instant new guards flooded into the cell; the metallic ring of their armor mixed with the clash of sword tips against stone. Cold steel loomed before me; gleaming points were trained on my chest and throat. Breaths stopped; time itself seemed to thicken.
"Death?… We'll die together anyway…" I answered, my voice trembling with fury, my eyes locked in frozen resolve.
The corridor door opened again; Halit Pasha entered, bowing his head as he came. I looked at his face a flicker of emotion passed across his lips and hardened. He snapped in a stern tone: "Let our Sultan go at once, woman!"
I smiled; a mocking curl lingered on my lips. "Am I going to let him go at your word… don't make me laugh!" I hissed. I tightened my grip on the shard and pressed it to the Sultan's throat; the glass's thin edge cut the skin. A warm, salty drop trickled down.
In that instant the air in the room froze; everyone recoiled in shock. "My Sultan!!"
The guards dropped to the ground and began to plead, but Halit Pasha shouted, "Attack!"
The order hung in the air, but no one lunged forward. For a moment the forces were paralyzed; the Sultan, breathing through the pain, let his eyes scan the room. Then, in pain, whispering an order, he said, "Get out of the way!"
Every will in the cages broke; everyone backed away and curled up in the shadow of the bars. The silence that fell over the chamber was broken only by the sound of retreating footsteps.
I still held the glass to his throat; my palms trembled and an icy cold ran through my veins. I looked around quickly my eyes hunting for a plan, for an escape, for any gap. That brief hesitation between Halit Pasha and the new guards had opened a window for us.
The Sultan's voice cracked with a pain rising from his chest: "Why are you doing this?"
I didn't answer. The anger and fear exploding inside me intertwined, too thick to shape into words.
When we reached the palace exit gate, the sight that awaited us was exactly as we had feared: almost the entire palace, mounted and arrayed, had sealed off the way out. Faces that had sprung from the throne's shadow formed a crowd hollow-eyed and forlorn; no one boldly blocked our path, either from fear or from the weight of a fate pressed upon them.
"Bring horses, now!" I shouted. My command cut through the air like a blade; still, no one moved with conviction necks bowed, hands trembling. A few men ran forward hesitantly, but most of them stood frozen in place.
I pressed my hand to the Sultan's wound; the warmth of the blood was not merely heat, it was the pulse of life hope itself. With a faint groan he nodded, whether from pain or resignation I could not tell. In that instant I perceived a small weakness beside me: humanity could still be fragile. A horse was brought saddled, breathing ragged but ready.
Menekşe Sultan stood before me; her voice was cold and cutting. "What do you think you are doing?" she said. Her eyes held anger and disappointment. Yet her words were empty; there was only one thing to be done in that moment: leave.
I gave no answer. We both leapt into the saddles; the toe of my shoe caught the stirrup and my skirt whipped aside as I struck the horse and it answered with a step. The scent of sweat beneath the animal's spine mixed with the smoke in the air; our speed increased abruptly.
The moment we cleared the palace walls, screams, the clanging of armor, and the panicked breaths of horses filled the air behind us. But a horde of riders was in pursuit the combined forces of the Pashas, the new guards, and palace sentinels shadowing our flight. The wind lashed my face, and I sat taller in the saddle; my heart pounded like a drum in my chest.
As we accelerated, so did they; archers readied arrows from atop their horses.
The first arrows whistled through the sky, dozens slicing through the air like needles. One struck my right shoulder and lodged itself; a searing, burning pain spread. My balance faltered; the horse startled, misstepped, but I steadied it through the reins. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the edge of my skirt, yet worse than the pain was the anger that surged in my chest.
The arrow hitting the horse threw us off balance; we both crashed to the ground hard. The shock, the pain, and the sudden change of air left me momentarily unconscious.
I slowly opened my eyes. The sky above was a vivid blue, lit by the first rays of the sun on the horizon. I scrambled upright; the Sultan was still unconscious. Kneeling beside him, I gently shook him, calling out:
"My Sultan… My Sultan… Wake up!"
His eyes opened slowly; his gaze was blurry but wise. Speaking was a struggle:
"I'm cold… Ayçil…"
From afar came the pounding of approaching horses, echoing through the whistling wind. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I hoisted the Sultan onto my shoulders; the full weight pressed heavily on me with each step. Every stride sent waves of pain through me, but we had no luxury to stop.
At first, we carefully followed the footprints, veering off in a different direction; our tracks left clear impressions in the snow and soil. Gasping for breath, holding it as best we could, we pressed on until we found refuge behind a thick tree. The forest's shadowy darkness concealed the rapid rhythm of our breaths.
For a while, silence reigned; apart from the pounding of our hearts, there was no sound. Then, from afar, a group approached with heavy, purposeful steps.
"Where are they?" a man asked, his voice trembling with the wind.
"Follow the tracks, this way," an older man said, pointing in the direction.
A moment of silence followed, and then they went off, tracking the footprints. Behind us, only the howl of the wind and the snapping of broken branches remained.
"Who are they… I've never seen them before…" I whispered, my voice blending with the wind's howl. I leaned against the tree, feeling the throb of the arrow wound in my shoulder with every breath. Every movement sent waves of pain coursing through my veins.
The Sultan's lips parted slightly, his voice low and weary:
"They… are Halit's supporters…"
"Wh… what?!" I gasped, caught between shock and fear.
His eyes slowly closed, his head drooping slightly. The cold wind brushed across the Sultan's face, ruffling his hair lightly. I did everything I could to support him, my heart pounding as if it would leap out of my chest.
"My Sultan… hold on," I said, my voice trembling but firm.
He rested his head on my shoulder, each breath synchronized with mine. The weight pressing down on me wasn't just his body it was the full weight of responsibility. My heart pounded wildly as I adjusted my steps carefully; every stone, every depression whispered danger.
When we reached the city, the streets were empty and silent. The wind whistled through the old walls, carrying whispers as if telling the secrets of abandoned houses. Finally, I gently pushed open the door of a house; the decayed wood creaked, but it took us inside. The door closed silently behind us, leaving a dark, cold, yet safe feeling of refuge.
The Sultan's body collapsed to the floor like a heavy sack. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow and trembling. I knelt beside him quickly, my hands shaking as they touched his forehead. Warm sweat on my fingers mixed with the coolness of his skin. Blood ran from his neck like a red river, staining his collar.
Without a word, I removed my coat, pushing his fur aside. His chest was bare; his pale skin stood in stark contrast to the red of the blood. I murmured as I dabbed at the wounds on his neck and chest with a cloth:
"Hold on… stay with me, the cut isn't deep…"
But he had already slipped into a deep sleep. His face had taken on the appearance of a peaceful mask, yet with every breath, I listened, fearing he might not come back.
I leaned my back against the damp stone wall. I could no longer stop the trembling that spread from my own body. I looked at the arrow lodged in my arm. I swallowed hard; my throat was dry. Pain had seized my entire body. Slowly, I reached for the arrow, my fingers slippery with sweat.
I grasped the tip of the arrow, clenching my teeth. I stuffed a cloth into my mouth and held my breath. As sweat trickled down from my eyes, I pulled it out slowly but deliberately. As the arrow came free from my flesh, it felt as though it was tearing my very soul out. The pain was such a sharp instant that a whimper escaped my throat.
Suddenly, my hands went limp. My body collapsed uncontrollably to the floor. Blood trickled across the stone like a thin line. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. As my eyes began to close, the walls spun, and darkness pulled me in.
The pale light of morning filtered through the window. I was still sleepless, dark circles under my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing on my body. I carefully cleaned my arm, applied ointment, and wrapped it tightly; the ache still throbbed beneath my skin.
I extended the dagger toward the Sultan, my gaze sharp and determined.
"Come on, we have to go!" I said, looking at him insistently.
He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his eyes; for a moment, there was a weary but indecisive stillness in his face. Then he looked at me silently and stood. Every movement was slow, deliberate, measured, as if he were gathering both body and mind.
With a teasing smile, I said, "Put these on," pointing to the clothes I was holding out.
"Alright… but… aren't you coming?" he asked, his voice still faintly trembling.
"Me? Yes… of course," I said, my words carrying both determination and a hint of defiance. Then I quietly stepped out of the room. Outside, I waited; time seemed to crawl, and the wind brushed against my shoulders.
After a while, a soft voice came from within:
"If your work is done… I'm coming in… alright then, I'm coming in…"
I rushed inside. Yes, the place was empty; the silence had become almost suffocating.
The main square, the marketplace, was nearly a sea of people; the stalls of the merchants, their shouts, the hurried steps of women filled every corner. As the evening began to settle, the shadows stretched long and took on a menacing form.
In a low whisper, I murmured:
"Sultan… Sultan…"
At that moment, the Sultan, who had been lying on the ground, slowly lifted his head. His eyes were tired, yet alert, and they met mine. My heart began to pound, a weight pressing against my chest.
"Sultan?" I asked, my voice a mixture of surprise and concern.
He moved his feet quickly, his eyes widening in panic, then shouted sharply:
"Ayçil! Run!!"
The crowd around me seemed frozen; everyone wrapped up in their own affairs, unaware of anything.
He ran, and I sprang after him; the pace of my feet struck the stone underfoot, my breath knotted in my chest. "Why are we running?" I asked, breathless.
"The man's brother came up to me and shouted," he panted, catching his breath as he spoke. "He thought I was his beloved; seeing us together he said, 'If you don't marry her, I'll kill you.' Even if I'm the Sultan, even if he's mad, his brother's honor means more to him."
With a kick from my foot he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground; a cloud of dust hit his face and the surroundings fell silent.
I bent down with a mocking smile and lowered my voice: "You will marry that girl."
Lying there, eyes full of dust, he stared at me: "What!? Ayçil, are you joking?" he shouted, half astonished, half furious. The men around him froze; the sticks and knives in their hands hung uncertainly in the air. The murmur of the square fell away; our two sentences seemed to have shaken every balance there, leaving a heavy silence.