The sun was setting.
The sky had taken on a blood-red hue, slowly plunging the earth into darkness. In the middle of the open bazaar, the people had formed a large circle. Faces were turned toward us with curiosity; there was a silent hum in the air. Everyone was holding their breath, yet their eyes were sharp, piercing, impatient.
I stood beside the Sultan. The people had never seen him before; they did not know who he was.
Was this an advantage for us, or a disadvantage preparing our end? I wasn't sure.
People appeared to be busy with their work, but no one was truly focused. Hands moved out of habit, eyes fixed only on us.
The weight of the air grew heavier; sweat, dust, and fear intertwined.
A whisper spread through the crowd.
A group of men was approaching us. Five of them.
The murmur of the crowd merged with the sound of their heavy steps, casting a suffocating atmosphere over the square.
The man in the center was noticeably larger than the rest; his belly stretched over black trousers, and he wore a robe in shades of gray.
His beard was thick and unkempt, hair parted in the middle, a few strands clinging to his temples with sweat.
One hand was clenched into a fist, the other gripping the handle of an axe mocking, as if he were used to beating people with it.
The faces of the four men beside him were completely covered.
They wore black, straight cloaks; the fabric rippled slightly in the wind, casting long and threatening shadows on the ground.
Where their eyes should have been, there was only darkness.
As they approached, the crowd's murmur faded.
A child stopped crying; a woman held her breath.
For a moment, the square was filled solely with the sound of their footsteps.
The last rays of the sun plunged the square into sharp shadows; the air was heavy with the scent of metal and dust. The Sultan, pressing close to me, whispered, his voice trembling like glass in my ears:
"What are we going to do now? I said we should run… but because of you, we'll die."
It was a whisper, filled with panic and accusation. The hum of the crowd suddenly receded; breaths were held.
My voice echoed across the square's stones.
"What happened? What do you want?!"
I spoke loudly, sharply, deliberately to draw attention; my voice tore through the air, focusing all eyes on us.
The large man's voice cut through the square:
"Give me that man! We have no business with you, woman!"
He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the Sultan. He gripped the axe handle so tightly that his fingerprints had turned white. His movements were as cold as the breath of a threat.
I shouted again, this time with urgency and defiance:
"Who are you? What do you want?!"
The words exploded into the air; the surrounding noise diminished again, people glanced at one another.
"Stop shouting, woman!" said the man. His voice hit like stone, a sharp command.
From a corner of the crowd, another whisper arose; everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
The head of the Janissaries stood before me. His face was stone-like, his eyes blazing, interrogating me.
"Lady, are these men troubling you?" he asked, his voice formal, yet beneath it lay a trace of curiosity.
A brief pause. I played the victim, my voice thin, broken:
"Yes… yes, they are troubling me!"
My words were designed to draw the crowd's attention; a fake tremor quivered at my lips.
The large man responded with a laugh-like voice:
"Sir, truly a lie! We have no business with this woman; we want this man!"
The moment he finished, the atmosphere in the square grew even heavier.
The head of the Janissaries looked at the man's axe, then at the Sultan, then at me. His eyes never fully met mine; he was merely assessing the situation. A cold question slipped from his lips:
"This man… what is his relation to you?"
A brief hesitation. Then I turned my face to the crowd, pointing at the man with a slow, theatrical gesture.
"Well… this man is my husband. But these men…"
I stopped, letting the silence stretch, heightening the tension.
"They are thieves!" I shouted. The accusation was simple but effective; as the words left my mouth, some in the square pursed their lips, others looked on with suspicion. The Sultan's eyes suddenly widened; seeing my expression, a grin appeared on his face a mix of surprise and enjoyment.
The man gritted his teeth tightly:
"What!! A lie, master? A lie? Woman, I'll crush you under my feet!"
"Gentlemen! Ladies! This woman speaks the truth these people have defrauded many, attack them!" shouted the middle-aged man; his voice struck the square like a match being struck.
No sooner had he spoken than the chain of restraint broke; people lunged at one another. Blows of sticks tore through fabrics, stalls were overturned, the vendor's cries turned into screams. A cloud of dust rose, cutting the sunlight, while the smell of metal, sweat, and blood filled the air. Faces in the crowd were like angry masks; eyes glinted with a hunter's fire, hands with a primitive thrill everyone wanted to reach their prey in one swift move.
I stood in the midst of the chaos, watching every motion; the rhythm of clashing bodies reminded me of the beat of a war drum. A man's arm was broken; a woman's scream hung suspended in the air. The Janissaries hesitated and stepped back, shadowed figures in cloaks blending into the darkness.
The sounds of the chaos filled my ears like a melody screams, the clash of swords, the echo of toppled stalls. Each sound was like a note; the chaos had an orchestral order. Every scream was a percussion instrument, every strike resonated like a stringed one.
Amidst the crowd, as people punched each other, I tilted my head slightly to the side. The corners of my lips curled not with pleasure, but as if savoring power. The smell of blood cutting through the dust cloud hit my nose; I drew a deep breath for a moment.
A woman's scream, a child's cry, then the dull sound of metal meeting bone all combined. The square had turned into a symphony of death. And I… was at the very center of it.
With both arms, he grabbed my waist and, in a sudden pull, dragged me into a narrow side street; my back slammed against the cold wall. The Sultan looked at my face, his brows furrowed like a shadow of questioning.
"Did you enjoy it? Watching people attack each other… does such horror satisfy you?"
His voice was heavy, deliberate; each word pressed down like a weight on a scale.
I quickly shifted the topic, trying not to let my voice tremble:
"This is all your fault. You shouldn't have made us deal with those men!"
He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on me without blinking; it softened not an inch.
"You brought us into this. First, you stole the gold, then entered the dungeon, and now… we're here because of you."
I looked at his face, pressed my lips tightly together, and asked with stone-cold determination:
"How are we going to enter the palace?"
His eyes drifted away for a moment, then fell in a whisper:
"Stealthily, of course."
"How will that happen?" I repeated, watching him closely.
The reply was short, cold, and left the responsibility to me:
"I don't know. Figure out the rest."
I nodded; the redness of the evening clung to the horizon.
"Alright. We enter at dawn. I'll protect you as best I can."
My words hung in the air. In the Sultan's eyes, calculation; in me, an ice-cold oath.
He slowly lifted one foot, pressing it against my waist. As all his weight shifted onto me, I bent toward the ground; my hands pressed firmly against the stone-cold floor. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, he withdrew his foot, and I raised my head to look at his face. I slowly lifted a single brow.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice a mixture of anger and surprise.
He leaned toward me, eyes gleaming in the dark; for a moment, he loomed like a shadow.
"You'll get crushed," he said, his voice low and firm. "I'm a ninety-kilo man."
He grabbed my wrist sharply. In one motion, he lifted me to my feet; my breath caught.
"We'll both die," he said in quick gasps, "we're wasting time."
He seized my waist, hurled me into the air, and I slammed hard against the opposite wall, hitting the ground with a jolt. My hair fell over my eyes, and my breath came in sharp, painful bursts. In the dim light, mixed with dust and the scent of stone, the moment felt as if the world itself had stopped.
Here's the English translation, keeping the scene's tension and tone:
I hissed through my teeth in a low voice,
"You bastard…"
I sat down and slowly lifted my head. The Sultan looked at me; his eyes were sharp, his breath heavy and steady.
"Get up," he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
The sky was pitch black; the wind swept dust along the stone streets, filling the air with grit. The palace's massive gate stood wide open, a black maw inviting us in. The Sultan walked beside me his steps heavy, shoulders drooped; his face was a mask in the dim light. "There's no security… the gate is open," he said, his voice carrying a weary resignation. The shadow above his head danced with the pale gleams spilling from the palace lights.
Something inside me screamed aloud: "Don't go!" But I was silent; I pressed my lips together and took another step without hastening. Each stone thudded under my footfall like a metronome; the surrounding quiet felt like an examination. The wind howled and filled my ears; my anxiety mixed with every breath.
Just as we were about to enter the corridor, a voice fell behind us: "Welcome, my Sultan!" When we turned, there stood Halit Pasha behind him the janissaries, the glint of armor, cold stares. His face was stone, a sly curl at his lips. "Sire, if one of the sultanas had borne a son, I would have killed you for it. Take our Sultan to his chamber," he ordered, with a chilling, breath-stealing coldness.
"How dare you give orders to our Sultan!" I shouted, but my voice collapsed against the metal walls. The Sultan turned his back and walked slowly; the weight of the palace rested on his shoulders, his face carrying a resigned solitude.
"I want to go, Ayçil…" he said, but I could no longer resist. I took a step toward him, and Halit Pasha's men drew their swords; steel flashed like a cold sky.
"My Sultan!!!" I screamed. The Sultan stopped and looked at me; something in his eyes broke, something collapsed. He looked at me helplessly, then walked away, his steps leaving echoes behind.
Halit Pasha blocked my path; his voice was cold and absolute:
"You are clever, but I am cleverer."
I saw that haughty cruelty curl at his lips… Then he commanded:
"Lock Ayçil in her chamber. Do not give her food; restrict her water let her die slowly."
The order fell like the bite of winter. The janissaries moved obediently; their eyes dried, their faces hardened to stone. Suddenly, it felt as if the walls closed in around me, and I froze, caught between shock and rage.
They dragged me behind the door; the thud of the planks, the sharp strike of nails behind… The doors shut; the windows were nailed closed. The only sound remaining inside was the pounding of my heart…