The light of dawn poured into the chamber like warm honey, gilding the silk curtains and gleaming against the polished marble floor. The palace was already stirring. Distant footsteps, murmurs from the corridors, the rhythmic rustling of kaftans and preparations outside the windows all hinted at the weight of the day ahead. It was coronation morning.

Stella stood by the arched window in a deep green gown, the color of emerald leaves after rain. It hugged her waist, flowing down in long folds stitched with silver thread. Her hair was down, and tiny pearls gleamed at her ears. She looked regal but her eyes were soft, distant, watching the sunlight filter through the clouds above the city that once terrified her, then took everything from her... and now gave it all back.

"Mama! Mama look!" Nergisşah twirled clumsily in a little velvet dress, trying to mimic her mother's elegance, while Mehmed barefoot and defiant had stolen one of Atmaca's sashes and was pretending to duel an imaginary foe.

"Nergis, careful!" Stella laughed, kneeling to smooth the folds of her daughter's dress. "And Mehmed put that down before you poke your eye out."

"But I'm a pasha today," the boy insisted, puffing his chest. "I'm going to protect the whole palace!"

"You'll do it in proper shoes and without attacking your sister," she replied, tugging him gently into her arms. Mehmed climbed into her lap without protest, curling into her like he hadn't done in months. His cheek was warm against her neck. Nergis followed suit, leaning in from the other side and pressing a kiss to her mother's shoulder.

"You're the most beautiful mother in the whole world," she whispered.

Stella closed her eyes. She didn't answer at first. Her throat was thick with something unspoken. She simply held them both close, her arms wrapped around them tightly, savoring the peace of that moment. Today, everything would change.

A soft knock came at the door.

"It's time," a kalfa announced gently.

She nodded and stood, brushing down her dress. "Come, we will see your grandmother first ."

They passed through the gilded halls until they reached the Valide Sultan chambers. It was the first time Stella had truly stepped foot there since the return, and the sight of Mahidevran standing tall by the latticed window, her silhouette framed by sunlight, brought a tightness to her chest.

Mahidevran turned at their entrance, eyes softening immediately as she saw them. Her robe was of deep burgundy silk, her hair wrapped in a turban studded with jade, and she had an air of quiet majesty that Stella hadn't seen before. She looked at peace.

"Nergisşah. Mehmed." Her voice trembled. She opened her arms.

The children rushed forward with cries of "Grandmother!"

She knelt to the marble floor, hugging them tightly, tears falling silently as she clutched their small bodies. "I prayed for this moment every day you were gone," she whispered into their hair.

When she finally stood, she and Stella faced one another.

"She's strong," Mahidevran said, glancing at Nergis, "and stubborn."

"She never takes no for an answer," Stella smiled.

"And mehmed ?"

"His father's courage... and his father's fire."

Mahidevran gave a low laugh. "Then we have much to prepare for. I see my son in them."

She walked over slowly, resting a hand on Stella's shoulder. "You raised them well. Even through exile, through fear and distance... they are whole. You gave them love, and you never once let it break you. You protected them as I once tried to protect mine. But you succeeded, Stella. And now now they will watch their father reclaim his birthright."

Stella swallowed hard, moved beyond words.

"I never got to watch Mustafa as a boy, not like this," Mahidevran whispered, her voice suddenly fragile. "They kept him from me, sent him to Manisa too young. And I lost him again to exile. But today... today, I'll watch him wear the crown. With you and these children at his side. And I can finally breathe."

They stood in silence for a moment, three generations of a fractured family now stitched back together by fate.

A knock came again.

"The imperial court is ready. The banners are raised."

Stella reached for her children's hands. Mehmed looked up at her with wide eyes. "Will Baba wear the golden thing today?"

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Yes, darling. Today, he wears it for all of us."

They walked out into the light heading towards the tower of justice where they can watch the coronation , Mehmed and Nergisşah kept fighting on who was going to see well as they were too short to watch .

In the courtyard, courtiers lined up in meticulous rows. Eunuchs in white robes, dignitaries in embroidered caftans, and aghas with stern faces all turned as the royal family approached. The banner of the House of Osman hung high above them, caught by the morning wind, its rich red fabric dancing against the sky.

And at the heart of it all, Mustafa stood.

He wore the imperial kaftan black velvet trimmed with gold and a ceremonial turban adorned with the emerald aigrette of power. His bearing was tall and resolute, but his eyes searched only for one thing. When he saw Stella approach with the children, his face softened, just for a breath. It was the only flicker of vulnerability he allowed himself that morning.

She nodded at him, her gaze steady. Nergisşah waved. Mehmed looked up at his father, starstruck all over again.

Then the trumpets blared.

The hush that fell over the courtyard was instant, deep, and reverent.

The Chief Mufti stepped forward to begin the formal rites. The sword of Osman was brought forth, gleaming under the morning sun. Mustafa moved toward it, and Stella lifted both children into her arms so they could see. They clutched at her shoulders, silent with awe.

As Mustafa knelt, the Mufti's voice rang out:

"By the will of Allah, and the legacy of Osman Gazi, we bestow upon Şehzade Mustafa the seal of sovereignty."

The sword was fastened to his side.

Whispers spread across the crowd like wind over grass. Some wept silently. Others simply watched, as if struggling to believe it had truly come to pass. The exiled son. The fallen prince. The boy who had been hunted from his home now rose to claim the throne that had once been stolen from him.

Mustafa turned.

He faced them not just as a ruler, but as a survivor. His voice, when it came, was deep and solemn.

"Today marks not only the dawn of a new reign, but the return of justice. We rise from ash and shadow to restore what was broken not with vengeance, but with wisdom. Not with blood, but with truth."

He paused.

"And for those who suffered while I was gone for the mothers who wept, the children who waited, the people who feared I return as their servant, not their master."

A cry broke from the crowd. It was not words, just emotion a release, a wave of shared memory and sorrow and hope.

From where she stood, Stella could hardly breathe. Her children were wide-eyed beside her, whispering to each other.

"He's really a Sultan now, Mama?" Mehmed asked in awe.

She smiled and whispered back, "Yes, my love. And you are the son of a Sultan."

The drums sounded again. The procession began. Mustafa walked forward, the courtiers following behind, as the gates of Topkapı opened wide. The people of Istanbul had gathered in the streets, lining the palace square, heads craned to see the man who returned from exile to wear the crown.

And as he stepped through the gates, the roar of the people rose like thunder.

They chanted his name.

They threw flowers.

Now, as the ceremonial platform was being dismantled and the crowds respectfully withdrawn, Stella stood there along with Mahidevran sultan both exchanging the look of relief , of yes we did it , her heart still thundering in her chest. Her children were clutched tightly in her arms, their eyes wide from the spectacle, cheeks pink with excitement and confusion alike.

"Ayşe hatun and my daughter Melek are coming today , i shall go and receive them . you can go see Mustafa and i will come later" Mahidevran sultan excused herself and Stella nodded in return

As the ceremony ended they all went back to the palace to see Mustafa .

Mehmed squirmed in her arms and wriggled to the ground, toddling toward the edge of the stairs where guards stood watch. "Baba!" he shouted gleefully, waving both hands in the air. "Sultan Baba!"

Mustafa turned at the sound, his cloak fluttering faintly in the breeze, a garland of tulip petals still caught at his shoulder. And when he saw them Stella in green, her arms wrapped protectively around their daughter, and little Mehmed running toward him with pure, uninhibited joy he smiled. Not the proud, stoic smile of a ruler. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes and softened the years written on his face.

He knelt, scooping Mehmed up high into the air, spinning him once before pulling him into a fierce embrace. "My little lion," he murmured, voice thick. "You watched everything?"

"Yes!" Mehmed squealed. "Everyone cheered! You are a big Sultan now."

Mustafa kissed the top of his son's head and reached for Nergisşah as she ran into him, latching her arms around his neck.

Stella watched the three of them for a long moment, her heart too full to speak. But when he rose and met her gaze, his free hand extended to hers without words, without ceremony, without guards or statesmen only the man she loved and the future they had fought so hard to reach.

He drew her close, and she kissed his cheek gently. "It's done," she whispered.

"It's only just beginning," he said back, his eyes scanning the palace, the sky, the far-off golden domes of the city. "But this time, we begin together."

They walked together then Mustafa, Stella, and their children up the grand stairs of the palace towards his chambers . Not as scattered pieces of a broken dynasty, but as a family reunited in power and peace.

"Is this your room?" Nergisşah asked, peering around as they entered. "It's so big!"

"Baba has too many pillows," Mehmed declared, leaping onto the mattress and sinking into the mound with delight. "I want a bed like this!"

Mustafa laughed that rare, warm laugh that always reached his eyes. "Maybe when you're a pasha."

"But I want to be Sultan!" Mehmed countered proudly, throwing himself onto his back with arms wide.

Stella smiled, watching their little feet running across polished marble, silk slippers slipping, laughter bouncing against the high domed ceiling. For a long moment, it was everything she had ever dreamed of them, here, in this place, whole again.

But her eyes met Mustafa's over the heads of their children, and something unspoken passed between them a knowing. That now, they needed to pause time, just for a moment. Just for the two of them.

She leaned down and kissed Nergisşah's forehead. "Why don't you both go with Safiye Hatun? She's waiting just outside."

"But—" the children chorused, nearly in unison.

"I'll be right behind you," Stella promised, brushing back Nergisşah's curls. "Let me speak with your father for a moment. "

Mustafa crouched to Mehmed's level and whispered something in his ear that made the little boy grin. "Okay!" he said with the seriousness of a soldier, tugging his sister's hand. "Come, come. We'll guard the door, okay?"

And off they went one bouncing, one tiptoeing dramatically escorted by the gentle hand of a kalfa and the delighted whisper of palace women seeing a future generation of royalty in motion.

The doors closed gently behind them.

Silence settled over the room. Heavy, charged.

Stella turned back toward Mustafa.

He was already looking at her.

His face was quiet, unguarded the weight of command finally giving way to something far older, far deeper. The man who had been taken from her years ago, returned. Changed, wounded, hardened but still her Mustafa.

She stepped to him slowly, and he reached for her hand, holding it like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

"Do you know," she said softly, "there were nights I would wake up, breathless, thinking I heard your footsteps. I used to tell Nergisşah stories about you. Every night. Even when I didn't know if you were alive."

"Do you know what I thought of when I stood before the Divan today?"

She shook her head.

"You. Them. The sound of Mehmed's laugh. Nergisşah's little hands reaching for me. That was the empire I was fighting for."

And suddenly, she couldn't hold herself back.

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. He held her tight not as the Sultan, not as the commander who had reclaimed a throne but as a man who had been broken and rebuilt by love.

"I missed you," she whispered into his shoulder.

"I died without you," he whispered back.

They stood there, in the center of the room, no titles, no thrones, just the ache of lost years and the warmth of a future regained.

In the stillness, a breeze swept in from the open balcony the sound of the Bosphorus below, the faint song of gulls, the echo of a city learning a new name.

Padishah Mustafa.

And beside him, the woman who had waited and would never have to wait again.

After so many years apart, they finally had a moment just the two of themto breathe, to feel the reality of being close again. Stella's hand rested lightly on Mustafa's arm as he looked at her with a mix of gratitude and sorrow.

"I never stopped hoping," he said softly. "Not for a single day."

Stella gave a small smile, tears threatening to spill. "Neither did I."

They sat in silence, the weight of the past years pressing on their hearts, yet the promise of the future warming the space between them.

A sudden, gentle knock interrupted the moment.

After Mustafa's approval , the door opened revealing Mahidevran Sultan standing there, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and relief. Behind her, a young girl clung to her mother's side Melek. And just behind them, Ayşe Hatun's calm presence filled the doorway.

Stella's breath caught. Mustafa's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face.

Mahidevran bowed her head respectfully. "Sultan, I bring Ayşe Hatun and Melek to you. It is time for your family to be whole again."

Mustafa rose slowly, stepping forward toward Ayşe, then down to meet Melek's gaze

Mustafa's eyes never left Melek as she shyly stepped forward, clutching her mother's hand. The little girl looked like a bloom just beginning to open—curious, cautious, but unmistakably his. A daughter he had never held before, never seen grow beyond infancy. The ache in his chest deepened.

"Melek..." His voice was barely a whisper, a trembling mix of disbelief and overwhelming love.

The girl's wide eyes searched his face, then slowly, hesitantly, she lifted a small hand toward him. Mustafa knelt down, arms open, and Melek took a trembling step forward before throwing herself into his embrace.

Tears spilled down Mustafa's cheeks as he held her close, feeling the warmth of a connection lost but now found.

Behind him, Ayşe's eyes shone with unshed tears. She stepped forward, offering a quiet smile. "Sultan, it has been too long."

Mustafa stood and took her hand gently, bowing his head. "Ayşe thank you. For protecting her, for being strong."

Mahidevran watched from the doorway, her own eyes misty as she saw the family reunited at last. She stepped forward, placing a hand on Stella's arm.

"You have raised your children well," Mahidevran said softly, nodding toward the two younger ones playing quietly nearby. "They carry your strength and his."

Stella smiled, her gaze flickering between Mustafa and the children. "It is time for healing," she said, "and for the future."

Mustafa looked around the room, the weight of exile and loss lifting with each heartbeat. For the first time in years, his family was together. And he vowed silently, nothing would tear them apart again

Melek sultan and Ayse hatun were put in a very beautiful chambers picked by Mahidevran sultan for them to rest .

The night wrapped the palace in a velvet quiet, the distant calls of nightingales the only sound outside the chamber windows. Stella lay beside Mustafa, her head resting gently on his chest as his steady heartbeat lulled her into a peaceful calm she hadn't known in years. The tension of their long journey, the weight of battles and exile all seemed to dissolve in the warmth of this moment.

He ran his fingers softly through her hair, his touch tender but sure. "After all this, it feels like a dream to have you here," he murmured.

Stella lifted her head, her eyes shining in the candlelight. "It's not a dream. It's home."

They stayed like that for hours, speaking in whispers, sharing fragments of hope and sorrow, rebuilding what was broken between them.

Morning light spilled through the tall palace windows, flooding the garden with golden warmth. The palace servants had set a long, low table beneath the blooming jasmine vines, adorned with fresh fruit, honeyed pastries, fragrant coffee, and delicate porcelain cups.

Laughter and lively chatter echoed through the courtyard as children's feet pattered on the stone paths. Nergisşah twirled happily in her dress, her small hand tightly clutching Stella's, while Mehmed darted excitedly between the tables, already begging Mustafa to teach him swordplay later.

Ayşe Hatun and Melek arrived shortly, their smiles bright as they joined the gathering. Mustafa greeted them with a warm embrace, relief and joy evident in his eyes. Ayşe nodded respectfully toward Stella, who returned it with a gracious smile, their unspoken understanding filling the space between them even after years of hatred towards each other .

.Stella watched from nearby, her hand resting lightly on Nergisşah's shoulder. The little girl glanced between her sister and her father, curiosity blooming in her eyes. "Is she... really my sister?"

Stella nodded, stroking her hair. "Yes, my love. "

Melek looked up and saw Stella then. There was a beat of hesitation but then, Melek stepped forward. Nergisşah stood very still.

"Hi," Melek said, a little shy. "Do you want to eat sweets together?"

Nergisşah blinked, then smiled. "Only if you like honey rolls."

"I do."

The two girls ran off hand-in-hand toward the table, calling for a plate big enough for both.

Stella walked slowly to Ayşe, her green dress trailing across the grass. "Thank you," she said softly.

Ayşe smiled. "You don't need to thank me."

"I do. You kept her safe. "

Ayşe looked down, eyes glinting. "He was always her hero. And now she sees him again... that matters more than anything."

From a distance, Mahidevran Sultan approached dignified in every step, but unable to conceal the warmth in her face. She opened her arms to Melek and Nergisşah as they ran to her, kissing their cheeks and straightening their veils like any grandmother would.

"I haven't seen such laughter in this garden in years," she murmured as Stella came to stand beside her. "It suits them. And you."

"And you," Stella replied.

The garden hummed with life. Servants poured tea, birds sang from the branches, and the children played a game of pretend royalty, crowning Mehmed with a grapevine crown. He called himself "Sultan Mehmed the Brave" and declared a war on olives.

Mustafa leaned back in his chair, one arm around Stella's waist, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. Peace was no longer a dream on the horizon. It was here in laughter, in love, in the joy of children chasing butterflies through imperial roses.

And for once, the empire was quiet.

The breakfast had slowly dwindled, leaving behind half-empty platters and soft, satisfied laughter. Most of the palace was now returning to its routines, but Stella lingered beneath the flowering vines a little longer. The morning sun had grown stronger, golden rays scattering through the trees, and the scent of crushed mint and wet stone drifted on the breeze.

She turned to the three children beside her—Melek seated cross-legged on a blanket, carefully peeling a fig; Nergisşah curled against her shoulder, lazily toying with a petal; and Mehmed, who had somehow smeared pomegranate juice on both cheeks like war paint.

"Come," Stella said gently, brushing her daughter's hair away from her forehead. "Let's go for a walk."

"Where?" Mehmed asked instantly, already bouncing to his feet. "Can we go to the stables? Or the big garden where the peacocks are? Or the—"

"Somewhere quiet," she smiled. "Somewhere the three of you can breathe without rules for a little while."

Nergisşah grabbed her hand, while Melek stood and took Mehmed's. The four of them wandered through the winding gravel paths, passing marble fountains and tulip beds just starting to bloom. A gentle hush had settled over this part of the garden—far from the clamor of court life, closer to the stillness of the old palace trees.

Nergisşah skipped ahead on tiptoes, trying not to let her slippers touch the pebbles. "Mama, look! I'm floating!"

"You'll float right into the fountain if you're not careful," Stella teased.

"I won't! I'm a leaf!"

Melek laughed, her steps more composed but no less joyful. "She's always this silly?"

"All day," Mehmed groaned dramatically. "And then she tries to marry the cat."

"It was only once!" Nergisşah cried, indignant. "He was handsome!"

"Prince Çorap," Stella said solemnly, "was indeed a noble feline."

All three children burst into giggles.

They wandered deeper into the garden, toward an ivy-covered alcove where wild violets grew. Stella sat on a low stone bench, and her daughters joined her on either side, Mehmed sprawled at her feet, playing with a fallen stick like it was a sword.

For a while, no one spoke. The stillness wasn't awkward it was gentle, like water lapping quietly against a shore. Stella let her gaze drift between them: Melek's thoughtful eyes, so like her father's; Nergisşah's little hands weaving flower crowns; Mehmed chewing on the edge of a leaf when he thought no one was watching.

She breathed it in the rare, rare peace of having them all here. Safe. Loved. Together.

"Mama," Nergisşah said suddenly, "can we stay here forever?"

Stella blinked. "In this garden?"

"No. In the palace. With Baba. With Melek. All of us."

Stella glanced toward Melek, who had gone very still. Her gaze was lowered, but her hand reached slowly across to rest over Nergisşah's.

Stella wrapped an arm around each of them and pulled them closer. " This is your home now, all of you."

Mehmed popped up again, triumphant. "I found a stick that looks like a sword! I'm the Sultan now!"

"No, Baba is the Sultan!" Nergisşah shouted, leaping down from the bench.

"Well, he's old. I'm small and fast."

Stella chuckled and stood. "Come, Sultan Mehmed the Small and Fast. Let's walk a little farther."

They followed the path until it opened into a little hill, and from the top, they could see the domes of the palace rising beyond the trees. Stella paused there, lifting her face to the breeze. The children ran in circles around her, their laughter echoing against the stone.

Somewhere in the depths of the palace, decisions were being made, decrees written, matters of state unfolding.

But here, for this moment, none of that mattered.

Here, there was only sunlight and wind and the sound of her children calling her name:

"Mama!"

"Mother!"

"Look at me!"

And Stella smiled because after all the wars, all the exile, all the blood and aching years this was what she had dreamed of.

Stella led the three children back toward the main courtyard. Their feet were dusty, flower petals clung to Nergisşah's tangled curls, and Mehmed carried his "sultan's sword" proudly like a relic of conquest. Melek walked beside her stepmother, quiet but content, the corners of her mouth twitching every so often as if holding back a secret smile.

The moment they entered the gates leading toward the inner courtyard, a strange stillness fell over them.

Three servants waited just beyond the steps, each holding reins. Not one, but three small, beautifully groomed ponies stood beside them, each adorned with silken sashes and golden tassels.

Nergisşah froze.

Mehmed's stick hit the floor.

Melek's eyes widened.

And then, from behind one of the marble columns, Mustafa appeared.

"Baba!" Nergisşah squealed.

"Father!" Mehmed was already running, arms flailing.

Melek hesitated a moment longer, but the soft smile that formed on her face was unmistakable as she stepped forward.

Mustafa knelt with arms wide open, and they all rushed him at once, nearly knocking him back.

"I heard you three have been exploring every corner of the gardens," he said, planting a kiss on Nergisşah's temple and ruffling Mehmed's hair.

"They made me queen of the violets," Melek said softly, her voice clear and amused.

"Ah," Mustafa smiled, "then it is only right that royalty have a proper steed."

He turned and gestured toward the waiting ponies. "They are yours."

For a moment, no one spoke. Just stunned little gasps. Then

"You're joking!" Mehmed shouted.

"Mine has ribbons!" Nergisşah shrieked.

"Does mine really belong to me?" Melek whispered, her fingers hovering over the soft white mane of the dappled pony nearest her.

"All three are yours," Mustafa said, voice warm. "Each one chosen for you."

Nergisşah threw her arms around her father again. "You're the best Baba in the world!"

"My pony is the fastest," Mehmed declared, already halfway mounted, even though the groom nearby scrambled to help him properly.

"You'll fall before you even start," Stella called, laughing from the garden entrance. Her eyes were full of affection, one hand resting lightly over her heart.

Mustafa straightened and walked toward her slowly, the warmth of the scene lingering around him like sunlight. "I wanted to give them something... just for joy."

"They've had so little of that," she murmured. "This is everything."

"They deserve the world," he said, looking out at the children with a rare softness. "But for now, three ponies will have to do."

Just then, Nergisşah came galloping well, bouncing in a small circle, gripping the reins like a knight charging into battle. "I will name her Zümrüt!"

Mehmed rode behind her with a crooked saddle and one slipper missing. "Mine is Thunder!"

And Melek, slower, more careful, ran a gentle hand down the neck of her pony. "His name is Snow."

The courtyard rang with their voices, echoes of laughter and delight rising through the stone walls. Servants peeked through columns to smile. Even the guards at the gates allowed themselves a brief glance, softening in the face of such purity.

Stella leaned against Mustafa lightly. "When they remember their childhood, they'll remember this."

He nodded. "And may they never know anything darker."

Together, they watched their children ride in wobbly little circles, the ponies stepping with patience and care

Later that evening, after the children had been led away by their governesses tired, dust-streaked, and glowing with the thrill of the day Stella remained behind in the gardens. The warmth of the sun still clung to the stone benches, and the air was fragrant with crushed grass and early-blooming jasmine. She stood beneath one of the old cypress trees, her hands lightly resting against its bark, watching the sky fade into layers of soft rose and deepening blue.

She felt his presence before she heard him. Mustafa stepped out from behind one of the columns, silent as always, but his gaze was unmistakable drawn only to her. In his hands, he carried a shawl, which he gently wrapped around her shoulders as he came to stand behind her.

"It's growing cold," he murmured.

"And you still think I can't handle the cold?" she teased softly, but leaned into his warmth all the same.

His hands came to rest on her arms, steady, grounding. "I think you've handled everything," he said. "More than anyone ever should have."

She turned, slowly, until they were face to face as lovers who had walked through fire and still reached the other side.

"I still remember the first time I saw you," Stella said after a pause, voice low with memory. " When we were kids and when you saved me multiple times when i came here"

And I spent time trying to forget what we were. Who we were.I thought my father will never let me marry you"

"But we couldn't." Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

"No," he agreed. "Because there was something neither of us could outrun."

She looked up at him again, searching his face the lines of weariness, of survival, and the quiet strength that had never left him.

"We were more than a treaty. More than an alliance," she said.

His fingers brushed her cheek. "We were inevitable."

Her lips curved into a small, trembling smile. "Fated."

No need for more.

Fated 

The end 

-

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I cannot believe that this is the end of my story , i've spent two years writing it and honestly i wouldn't be here without all of you thank you all for loving Mustafa and Stella and coming along the journey .

I would love to hear your thoughts about this story

If you liked this i'm sure you would like my new story crown caged , it's the one i'll be working on from now on love you guys 🩷🩷