Alexander marched beside me, jaw tight, fury etched in every step. His guards followed close, weapons drawn.

"They've locked the southern exit," he muttered. "Nothing passed the main roads, not without being seen."

"Mehmet must be hungry by now he still wakes in the night and cries for milk and Nergisşah, she doesn't sleep unless I sing to her. What if he's crying and I'm not there?" My voice cracked. "What if he's cold? What if- "

"Stop," Alexander said sharply. "We're going to find them. You hear me? You'll hold them again."

I nodded numbly, but the cold dread didn't loosen its grip.

We reached a clearing where the trail split. One led to the river, one toward the southern hills.

Before we could decide, we heard it.

Steel. A shout. Then silence.

Alexander raised his hand and we dismounted, approaching on foot.

Hidden between the trees was a cloaked carriage, covered in mud. Two horses still hitched, one panicked and stomping. The door was open. The driver a man in black lay dead beside it, blood seeping into the soil.

I held my breath.

Alexander moved first, drawing his sword as we crept toward the carriage. My heart pounded so loud it drowned the rustle of leaves and the labored breathing of our guards.

I reached the door, each step a struggle between terror and hope.

No Nergisşah. No Mehmet. No soft blankets or scattered toys. Only a faint warmth left behind on the cushions.

"They were here," I whispered, my fingers curling into the edge of the door. "Not long ago. They were here."

Alexander stepped beside me, his eyes scanning the carriage floor, then the ground beyond. "Footprints," he muttered.

"There," he pointed. "They were pulled from the carriage. Carried."

I felt something catch in my throat , rage or despair, I couldn't tell anymore. "Where?"

He scanned the dirt, eyes narrowing. "South. Toward the river."

"But that's where the border is," I said quietly, dread twisting in my stomach.

"Yes," Alexander muttered, "and they're in a hurry."

I didn't wait , I turned and ran.

"Stella!" he called after me, but I didn't stop.

Branches tore at my gown, my slippers sank in the wet earth, but I didn't care. My babies were out here. Cold. Alone. Mehmet would be hungry. Nergisşah would be scared, pretending to be brave, clutching her brother's hand.

I couldn't breathe with the thought of them crying for me.

And then

A scream.

Not mine.

I burst from the trees into another clearing and froze.

Four men were on the ground. One still groaning. Another bleeding out by the riverbank.

Standing in the middle, a sword raised and breath heavy, was Atmaca.

His blade dripped red a,d behind him, clutching one another, were my children.

Mehmet in Alina's arms, sobbing. Nergisşah, her little fists clenched, tear-streaked but fierce.

My knees buckled.

"Mother!" she cried.I fell to her before she could run, scooping her into my arms.

"I've got you," I sobbed, pressing kisses to her hair. "I've got you, I've got you."

Behind me, Alexander slowed to a halt, breathless.

"How is he here?" he demanded, pointing to Atmaca, who still hadn't sheathed his sword.

Atmaca's eyes were dark. "You were being watched. They were planning to cross the river. Someone from inside helped them."

My blood turned to ice.

"Who?" I whispered.

He looked at Alina, who refused to meet my gaze.

I didn't wait. I lunged forward and tore Mehmet from Alina's arms without a word. He was warm, too warm, his little face blotchy from crying. He whimpered, recognizing me immediately, and buried his face against my chest.

He had cried himself hoarse, his little fists clinging to my gown as though afraid I might vanish again. I rocked him, whispering his name over and over, pressing frantic kisses to his head, his cheeks, his cold fingers.

Then I looked up. At her.

Alina stood there, hands folded calmly before her, not a trace of fear in her eyes.

"You were going to run," I said quietly. My voice was low, but each word burned in my throat. "You were going to take them."

Her expression didn't change and it chilled me more than her betrayal.

"You were supposed to protect them," I said, my voice cracking. "You sang to Nergisşah when she cried. You fed Mehmet when I couldn't keep my eyes open. I trusted you."

Nergisşah was still pressed to my leg, clutching the fabric of my cloak. I bent and pulled her close with my free arm, kissing her tangled curls, feeling the tears drip down my cheeks. Her small voice trembled in my ear: "Don't leave us again"

"I won't," I promised. "Never."

Then I looked up. At her.

Alina stood there like a ghost. Pale. Stiff. Eyes lowered now, not meeting mine. No pride, no confidence only silence. But silence wasn't enough.

She didn't answer.

I stepped closer, the fury rising in my chest like a tide.

"You were going to take them," I repeated, louder now, my voice shaking. "You would've crossed the river. Disappeared. And I would've buried myself alive, not knowing where they were. Who they were with. If they were safe. If they were fed. If they were crying for me."

Still no answer.

Her eyes finally lifted to mine. There was fear there now.

"You don't understand," she said, her voice weak, small. " I didn't want to hurt them "

"Then why did you help take them from me?" I snapped. "Who told you to do this? Who sent you?"

Alina flinched. "I didn't have a choice," she whispered.

"Who sent you?" I screamed.

Her lip trembled. "I didn't want to- "

"That's not an answer!"

I couldn't feel the weight of Mehmet in my arms anymore. Couldn't hear the river, the wind, or even Alexander stepping closer behind me. All I could hear was the thrum of blood in my ears and my own heartbeat wild, furious.

"Tell me," I said again, low now, cold, deadly. "Who gave the order?"

Her voice came out so soft, I barely heard it.

"Hurrem Sultan »

The name cracked something inside me. I closed my eyes.

Of course it was her.

"She wanted them alive," Alina added quickly. "She said not to hurt them, just to get them across the border. That's all. She said their place wasn't with you "

"Enough," I snapped.

My fury boiled so high I thought I might explode. I couldn't believe that that woman brought a traitor into my palace to serve her

I turned to the guards behind Alexander. "Take her away. I never want to see her face again. And if she speaks my children's names again—cut out her tongue."

They obeyed.

And as they dragged her through the mud, crying now, begging but i didn't flinch. I didn't look away.

I held my children close and whispered, "We're going home.

We headed back to the palace again , this time with my children safe in my arms  .

Even after the children had been bathed and fed, even after they'd fallen asleep in my arms with fingers curled tightly in my gown, I couldn't rest. I sat beside them until their breathing evened out, until I was sure they were safenot just physically, but truly, deeply safe.

Then I rose.

And I went looking for him. I found him waiting outside my door

His clothes were stained with travel and blood, his sword finally sheathed at his hip. He bowed slightly, but I didn't wait for pleasantries.

"You're not supposed to be here," I said. "You don't live in my kingdom. You vanished."

He didn't answer immediately. His eyes met minecalm, unreadable, as always.

"How?" I asked. "How did you find them? How did you know?"

Silence.

"Atmaca," I said, stepping closer. "You knew exactly where they were. You were waiting. You don't just appear out of nowhere unless you were following someone."

Still, he hesitated. I narrowed my eyes.

"You were following someone," I said. "You were following me."

"No," he said quietly. "Not at first."

I folded my arms, heart pounding. "Then why?"

He exhaled. "Because of a letter."

I stilled. "What kind of letter?"

He reached into his coat, slow and deliberate, and pulled out a folded parchment. Worn. Creased. The seal long broken. He handed it to me without a word.

I opened it.

He has been seen.

East of the Black Sea.

Wearing no crown, bearing no title.

But alive.

I couldn't breathe.

"Mustafa," I whispered.

"I received it two nights ago," Atmaca said. "No name. No seal. But the words... they were not a lie. I could feel it."

I kept reading the same lines, over and over, as if more meaning might surface. "He's alive," I murmured. "He's alive."

"I was coming here," Atmaca continued. "To tell you. To warn you that everything is not finished. And then" he paused "I saw her."

He didn't need to say the name. Alina.

"She was leaving the palace. With two cloaked figures. Carrying something bundled in her arms."

His jaw clenched. "I knew."

"So you followed."

"I followed."

It felt like too much. Too many truths crammed into too small a space. I sank onto the nearest seat, still holding the letter like it might crumble.

My heart warred between hope and rage. Mustafa. Alina. The Empire. The children.

"He has been seen," I murmured. "East of the Black Sea. That's deep into exile."But how?" I whispered. "How can he have survived this long? Alone?"

Atmaca met my gaze, firm. "Because he was never truly alone."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There are people," he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "Across Anatolia. In Konya. In the hills, the ports, even inside the capital. They still remember him. Still whisper his name in the dark."

My breath caught.

"They call him Şehzade," he continued. Not 'traitor or  exiled .' They say the Sultan turned on his own blood. They say a prince does not fall he waits."

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat.

"There is unrest," Atmaca said. "Whispers turning into fires. Tribes refusing to pay taxes. Governors delaying orders. ."

"You think they're rebelling?"

"They're waiting," he said. "For a sign. For proof. For someone brave enough to say what they've all feared to believe."

He looked down at the letter still in my hands .

"That he's alive."

I swallowed. "And are you one of them? One of the brave ones?"

"I don't serve cowards," Atmaca said. "I don't kneel to liars. I served Mustafa, and if he breathes, I will serve him again."

I stared at him for a long moment.

He didn't flinch. His eyes were steady. Loyal

"We're moving," he said. "Quietly and carefully. We will find where he is. When we do, we'll send word."

My heart beat faster. "And then?"

His eyes sparked. "Then the Empire will remember the name it tried to bury."

Me and Atmaca exchanged few words before he decided to head back to where he was , he had promised to inform me of any new developments and i could now rest easy at least for now .

I went back to my room that night, I didn't leave their side.

The storm outside had eased, but in my heart, it still raged  grief, joy, longing, everything tangled like vines too tightly wound.

Nergisşah lay curled beside me, her head tucked against my shoulder, her thumb still resting near her mouth though she'd fallen asleep. Her breath was slow and steady

Mehmet was in my arms, one chubby hand fisted into the fabric of my nightgown, his breathing hiccuped from all the crying he'd done earlier. He smelled faintly of milk and vanilla , and I pressed my lips to his temple for what must have been the hundredth time.

I didn't want to sleep. I just wanted to watch them.

To memorize them.

To be reminded that they were safe. That I hadn't lost them.

Candles flickered on the mantle across the room, casting soft golden halos over the walls. Outside the window, the moon had finally emerged, full and pale, watching us in silence.

The silence answered, but I could feel him.

Mustafa.

The ache of his absence was a hollow that no tears could fill. But tonight, for the first time in so long, there was hope threaded into the pain.

He was alive.

My Mustafa ,  the man who made war feel like poetry and power feel like a burden he bore for everyone else. He used to hold Nergisşah like she was made of glass and kiss my hands as if they were sacred.

I remembered his voice, the way it softened only for me. The way he would murmur llullabies at the edge of sleep, his fingers tangled with mine under velvet sheets.

My eyes burned.

Mehmet shifted in his sleep and made a tiny noise, and I quickly wiped my tears before they fell onto his face.

"Your baba's coming home," I whispered, rocking gently. "He's going to come back. Somehow."

I didn't know how long I sat like that  an hour, maybe more just holding my children like the world might steal them again.

Eventually, the candles burned low and the room grew quiet. I rested my head against the headboard, still awake as dawn began to paint the sky in pale pinks.

And somewhere, far away from this chamber across rivers and forgotten roads, beneath a canopy of stars  he stirred.

3rd person POV

The sound of waves crashed in the distance, muffled by the cave's narrow mouth.

Mustafa sat on the cold stone floor, a thin woolen cloak around his shoulders. His beard had grown in full now, his hair longer than it had ever been under palace rule. A thin scar curved beneath his jaw, a reminder of a blade that had nearly found its mark months ago.

He watched the flames flicker in the small fire before him, his fingers resting on a scrap of driftwood.

No name. No crown. Not even a servant to bring him bread.

And yet , he lived.

In the silence of exile, he had become something else. A shadow, a ghost, a myth whispered in markets and among soldiers still loyal to their conscience.

His thoughts were elsewhere drifting like ash through time. Faces floated to the surface of memory: Nergisşah, with her defiant little brows and curious eyes. Mehmet, too young to know his father's name, but old enough to feel his absence. And her

Stella. His beloved wife

Her name alone could make the ache sharpen behind his ribs. He could still picture the way she looked the morning he left: eyes swollen from crying but spine straight, refusing to fall apart in front of eveyone .

She'd pressed her hand to his chest before he turned away. And now, in the silence of his exile, that warmth was all he had.

There were still men who believed in him , not in the prince the court discarded, but the man he had become since.

He'd shed titles. He'd let go of power. And yet it chased him.

The people whispered. They remembered. Not just his victories, but his mercy. His discipline. His refusal to become a monster in a world where that was easier than being just.

They were tired of shadows ruling them.

A sound stirred behind him.

Mustafa turned slowly, hand drifting toward the dagger at his belt. But it was only Bekir, the scout who had found him months ago, half-dead on the coast.

"There's movement," Bekir said, his voice low. "The people are speaking your name again. Some don't even bother to whisper anymore. They've grown bold."

Mustafa said nothing at first.

Then he asked, "How many?"

"Enough to start something. Not enough to win."

His jaw tightened. That wasn't new. Revolt burned hot, but quick. The challenge was always keeping the fire alive without letting it consume everything.

"Are they armed?"

"Poorly. But their loyalty is strong."

Mustafa stood. He was taller than Bekir remembered or maybe it was the way he held himself now, like a man who had survived the death of everything that once defined him.

"Tell them nothing yet," he said. "Only that I am listening."

Bekir bowed slightly and left .

Mustafa looked back at the dying fire. The coals were still red beneath the ash.

« I will come back », he thought, but not for the throne.

The sea stretched out before him, endless and waiting.

He didn't know what day he'd return, or who would greet him when he did

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A/N : Hello everyone ! Next chapter will have a timeskip and i wanted to ask if you'd be interested in having nurbanu / selim / beyazid thoughts on third povs too because they'll be present in my next chapters or should i only stay focused on the main characters

Hope you're enjoying this so far love you mwah 🩷🩷