|Ayleen’s POV |

-February 6, 1677-

“May I fall by my own blade,
May I lie still on the ground,
May I be scattered like dust.”

And just like that, it was done.

The boys—my boys—Selim and Osman stood with chins lifted and blades lowered, their matching eyes steeled with the fire of manhood, yet I still saw their ten-year-old selves underneath. I was watching from the Tower of Justice, as tradition demanded, high enough to see it all, but far enough to keep from running to them.

Beside me stood Aysel, swaying gently with little Mehmed in her arms, her cheeks rosy and her gaze soft. Nuray was at her side, clasping her hands together, and behind them stood Zeynep Sultan, regal and glowing, and Ayşe Sultan with her sly, knowing smile. My dear friend Zühre Hatun stood quietly beside me, her hand resting lightly on mine.

As the final verse of the oath faded into silence, a warm breeze stirred the heavy fabric of my veil. I exhaled. Pride and ache swirled together like perfume and smoke.

"They said it with such strength," Zühre whispered, her voice like a hand on my back.

"Yes," I said quietly. "Too much strength. It frightens me. They're so exited" 

We turned from the balcony as the ceremony below ended and made our way back through the arched halls toward the harem. The boys would be taken to their tutors now. I would not see them until evening.

Back in my chambers, the warmth welcomed us.

Aysel settled gracefully into the cushions with baby Mehmed and hummed a lullaby as she rocked him, her face pure, content.

Zeynep and Ayşe fell into hushed conversation near the brazier, something about the preparations for the coming Ramadan, and Nuray excused herself to her own room.

I stayed near the windows with Zühre, still holding onto the weight in my chest.

"I should be happy," I said softly. "But now that the ceremony is over, Orhan will choose the provinces." 

Zühre placed a hand on my arm. "And yet, today you gained a son again, my Kadir is finally home from Damascus after years. Don't worry they'll be safe." 

I gave her a thin smile. "It’s ironic, isn’t it? That just as your arms are full again, mine will be empty." 

"You will adjust," she replied. "You always do." 

I nodded. Maybe. Maybe not.

"I’ll go to his Majesty," I said, stepping away. "I need to speak with him." 

She gave me a nod and returned to the others.

I walked down the corridors with my maids behind me, letting my veil fall lower over my brow as I crossed into the long gallery outside the harem, a quiet, open walkway that overlooked the inner gardens like a carved balcony.

And that’s when I saw them.

Beneath the terrace, near the shaded arches of the marble path, stood Nuray. Unveiled.

And beside her, Kadir.

Zühre’s son.

My heart jumped in my chest, not out of anger, but fear. What if Ahmed had passed this way? Or worse, Orhan? What if the guards had seen her like that, hair tumbling loose under the open sky, alone with a young man?

I drew a breath and descended the stairs with the kind of grace that hides urgency.

"Nuray," I said gently.

She turned, startled, stepping back instinctively.

Kadir bowed low. "Your Highness," he greeted, voice respectful. 

"Welcome back, Kadir," I said, still watching Nuray. My smile was tight, stretched over steel. "Nuray, my dear," I continued, "your sister Aysel needs your help with Mehmed. Go to her, hmm?" 

Her lips parted to explain, perhaps to defend, but I raised one hand and offered her a softer look. Not here. Not now.

She nodded and brushed past me, her eyes downcast.

I didn’t go to Orhan after all.

Something tugged me back. A quiet storm in my chest. I walked slowly through the corridors of the harem, and returned to my chambers where we had gathered earlier.

Inside, everything looked so calm.

Aysel sat cradling little Mehmed in her arms, swaying slightly as she played with his fingers. Nuray was seated beside her, tickling her nephew’s soft cheeks with a tenderness that melted my anger into something more sorrowful. Zeynep was pouring sherbet into cups as Ayşe retold a tale that had Zühre covering her mouth to stifle laughter.

"Nuray," I said gently from the threshold. "Come, walk with me." 

She looked up quickly, guilty, though she tried to mask it. She nodded and followed me without a word through the chamber doors, past the silken curtains, and out onto the private balcony that overlooked the garden from the harem’s rear side.

"What were you doing unveiled, outside the harem, with a man?" I asked, softly but firmly. "Do you know what would have happened had your father or your brothers seen you?" 

She stiffened. "It wasn’t like that," she said quickly. "I didn’t mean to, I just ran into him, that’s all. I forgot my veil. That’s it." 

I raised an eyebrow at her. "And it just so happened you ran into him outside the harem? Alone?" 

She looked away. Her silence was louder than a confession.

"Nuray," I said, quieter now, stepping closer. "You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re sixteen. Every step you take, every whisper, every look, is weighed against your father’s name. Against your brothers’. You’re a Sultan’s daughter. You represent them whether you mean to or not." 

Her jaw tightened. "I know what I’m doing." 

"Do you?" 

"I do," she said, turning back to face me. "He’s the son of the Grand Vizier. What better match could there be? His age doesn’t matter, he’s back, finally, and he’ll start his duties soon. You think I’m chasing some childish daydream, but I know what I want." 

My lips parted, but no words came at first.

Kadir.

He had grown in his years away, no longer the awkward boy who used to hide behind his mother’s skirts. Still, seventeen. Young. And Nuray… too proud, too headstrong.

I exhaled and glanced over the rail, the garden beneath seeming farther now than it had minutes ago.

"I know what you’re thinking," she said quietly. "But I see him for who he is. Not just what you all remember." 

I didn’t reply. Not yet.

I turned back to Nuray, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, just like I had when she was a baby waking from a nap.

"This isn’t over," I said gently. "But for now… let’s go inside." 

She nodded and followed me back into the warmth of our chambers.

Aysel was smiling as I joined her side, little Mehmed in her arms, cooing softly like he alone could silence the world.

And for a moment, he did.

»»-----　♔　-----««

-February 25, 1677-

I stood behind the gilded screen in Orhan’s divanhane, silent as a shadow, unseen by the men but able to see everything through the latticework. It was a space meant for the sultan’s closest counselors and his sons, but never his wife. And yet here I stood, as I had years before, when Orhan appointed Ahmed to Manisa.

Today it was Selim and Osman’s turn.

They were still boys in my eyes, even though their voices had deepened and their shoulders had grown broad. Twins in blood, yet as different as sun and moon. Selim with his charm that lit every room he entered, Osman with his quiet intensity.

I could see Orhan rise from his throne, his kaftan glinting with dark emerald thread under the dome’s filtered light. His viziers stood in a half-circle, respectfully still, heads slightly bowed. Selim and Osman stood in front of him, side by side, hands behind their backs, postures straight. No hint of fear, no boyish grin. Only resolve.

My heart beat like a bird inside its cage.

Orhan spoke.

"As the sons of the House of Osman, it is your duty to serve and guard the realm. The Empire does not wait for its sehzades to be ready, it demands their readiness."

"Selim," he said, turning first to our eldest twin. "You will go to Konya. It is a province of great trade and strategic might. Its gates open to the East. Rule it wisely."

Selim bowed his head deeply. "I will not fail you, Your Majesty."

"Osman," Orhan continued, facing the younger of the two. "You shall go to Amasya. Guard the Empire’s western heartland, the bridge between the capital and Europe. Do not let its beauty lull you into idleness. Be sharp."

Osman, ever the warmer one, bowed as well, his voice steady despite the smile that ghosted at the corner of his lips. "I will make you proud, Your Majesty."

Oh, my boys.

Behind the screen, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. My fingers clutched the golden trim of my sleeves.

Konya.

Amasya.

Both prestigious, both heavy with responsibility.

Allah'ım, I prayed silently, guide them. Let them learn. Let them grow. Let them be bold, but not reckless. Let their names be remembered with honor, not just as princes, but as men worthy of the sword they swore by.

Orhan’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, unreadable. Then he sat back down slowly.

The viziers murmured their approval.

I stepped back from the screen, my eyes burning. Not from sorrow, but pride. Fierce, trembling pride.

They were leaving me, as all sons must. But they were taking a piece of my heart with them.

And may they carry it like a shield.

»»-----　♔　-----««

-March 1, 1677-

The scent of rosewater hung in the air, mingling with the rustle of silks as I walked through the harem halls, my gaze moving from face to face, beautiful girls with lowered eyes and hopeful hearts.

I had just selected four for Osman and five for Selim, soft-spoken, educated, well-mannered. The kind of companions a prince might grow fond of or forget, only Allah knows how their stories will unfold. I whispered blessings for them as I left the chamber, my steps steady but my chest heavy.

I walked beyond the carved gates of the harem, past guards who bowed their heads as I passed.

My feet took me to his door.

The guards stepped aside.

I entered.

Orhan sat at his low table, papers scattered before him, the seal of the empire close at hand. His brow was furrowed in that way it always was when duty pressed down on him. And yet, when he looked up and saw me, something softened in his gaze.

"I’ve made the selections," I said as I stepped inside, "They will be ready to travel with our şehzades before the end of the week."

He nodded slightly, still scanning one of the pages.

"I am proud of them," I said, quieter now, letting my words fill the space between us. "But the thought of them leaving still knots something in me."

He looked up at last, setting the page aside.

"I know," he said. "But this is how they grow."

"I know that too." I sighed and sat across from him, hands resting in my lap. "That’s why I didn’t come here just to speak of sons."

He quirked an eyebrow, not unamused. "Go on."

I glanced away, trying not to sound too rehearsed. "I’ve been thinking... about Nuray."

He leaned back, arms folded. "She’s turned away every match we’ve arranged. I won’t force her into something she refuses."

"I agree," I said. "But now that Kadir Bey is back from Damascus… I thought perhaps... we might consider him. He is Yunus Pasha’s son, after all. And Zühre, she’s family in all but name. A boy raised in our palace corridors, well-mannered, promising."

Orhan was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping once on the arm of his seat.

"He’s young."

"She’s not old," I replied, gently. "And he’s come of age, hasn’t he? Will begin his duties soon."

Another pause. Then, he exhaled and looked to me.

"If Nuray agrees, and you're certain, then do what’s necessary."

I nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thank you, love."

He returned to his papers as I rose, but I caught the way his eyes lingered for a moment longer on mine before he looked away.

In my heart, I whispered a prayer. May it be a good match, not just for duty’s sake, but for her heart.

»»-----　♔　-----««

-October 1, 1678-

The autumn sun was kind today, not too harsh, not too faint, just enough to glisten on the marbled fountains and paint golden streaks across the leaves.

We sat beneath the great cypress tree in the garden, where the artist had arranged his easels and brushes, fussing about with fabric and angles. Orhan looked terribly bored already, seated upon his throne like a lion forced into stillness, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

I, on the other hand, sat beside him, perched with all the poise expected of a Haseki, my gown sweeping around me in layers of embroidered gold and amethyst purple.

"You’re sulking," I whispered to him, my lips barely moving as the painter squinted at us.

He tilted his head slightly toward mine. "You’ve cursed me to an hour of this torture, Ayleen."

"You’re the sultan. Command the sun to set early, then."

He chuckled, low and quiet, and I saw the way the painter blinked, perhaps confused by the softness that had slipped into Orhan’s features.

"I don’t know why we must be painted again," he muttered. "I haven’t changed."

"Oh, but I have," I teased. "My eyes are wiser. And my hair, longer, glossier, far more opinionated."

"And your tongue," he added, "sharper than ever."

I bit back a smile. "You like that about me."

"I tolerate it."

"You worship it."

We both sat straighter as the artist glanced up, mumbling something to his assistant.

Then, quietly, I leaned closer and whispered, "I received letters from Sena Kalfa and Erzu Kalfa."

He turned his head ever so slightly, just enough for me to see the interest flicker in his eyes.

"Selim?" he asked.

"And Osman," I said, the warmth blooming in my chest. "Both of them… are expecting children."

A pause. His brow lifted, barely. That was all it took for me to know he was pleased, deeply so.

"Twin news,"

I nodded, unable to contain my smile now. "I’m going to be a grandmother again."

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, his hand slid along the curve of the armrest and found mine, his thumb brushing against my skin in a gesture no artist would catch, but one I’d never forget.

"They’re making me old," I murmured.

"They’re making us eternal," He replied.

And as the painter asked us to hold still once more, I turned my face slightly, just enough that my smile could remain in the painting forever.

»»-----　♔　-----««

Hey babes, quick question — do you think the transition will feel smooth?