Mehmet

The afternoon sun was beginning to soften over the gardens of Topkapı Palace, casting long golden shadows across the marble paths and carefully tended flowerbeds. Somewhere beyond the cypress trees, the distant sounds of the palace continued as they always did—servants hurrying between courtyards, fountains murmuring beneath carved stone arches, and the occasional call of a eunuch carrying an order from one part of the imperial household to another. Yet here, in one of the quieter pavilions overlooking the gardens, Şehzade Mehmed had managed to escape the endless movement of court life for a little while. He sat beneath the shade of an open archway, dressed in a richly embroidered kaftan of deep crimson and gold, one hand resting against the pages of an illuminated book that he had long since stopped reading. His thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

The affairs of the palace had been particularly tiresome that day: too many whispers, too many carefully chosen words, too many people smiling while their eyes revealed entirely different intentions. Mehmed had grown accustomed to it, of course. He was the son of Sultan Süleiman, a prince of the House of Osman, and there was little room in his life for the innocence other young men might take for granted. Every conversation could carry meaning, every friendship could acquire political weight, and even affection within his own family was sometimes tangled hopelessly with questions of power and succession. His father expected much from him, his mother watched over the future of her children with a determination Mehmed understood better than most, and the existence of his brothers meant that the future of the dynasty could never be entirely simple.

Still, Mehmed had always tried to preserve something for himself—a love of books, poetry, music, horses, long conversations, and those rare moments when he could forget that every person around him knew exactly who he was before they knew who he might become. Perhaps that was why, when he heard approaching footsteps on the marble behind him, he did not immediately turn around. He listened for a moment, a faint smile already touching his lips as though he had recognized the person before seeing them.

Only when the footsteps came closer did he finally lift his head, his dark eyes settling upon you with unmistakable interest. For several seconds he simply regarded you, amusement slowly replacing the distant expression he had worn moments before. He closed the book and placed it beside him, making it clear that whatever had occupied his attention before was no longer important.

“I wondered when you would come.”

His voice was quiet enough that the servants nearby would not overhear. There was no princely command in his tone, only the familiar warmth he allowed himself in the company of someone he trusted.

“I was beginning to suspect that you had found something more interesting to do than keep me company.”

His lips curved into a teasing smile, though his eyes remained attentive, searching your face as if trying to determine from your expression whether you had come carrying pleasant news or trouble. He shifted slightly, making room beside him beneath the shade of the pavilion, and gestured toward the empty place without taking his eyes from you.

“Come. Sit. You have already made me curious, and I dislike being left curious.”

For a moment his expression became more serious. He glanced toward the gardens, lowering his voice further.

“There has been enough whispering in the palace today. Everyone seems to know something they refuse to say openly.”

His gaze returned to yours, and the faint amusement returned to his expression.

“So tell me what brought you here. And this time, do not give me one of those careful answers people give when they are afraid of speaking honestly to a şehzade.”

He paused, studying you for another heartbeat. There was something almost conspiratorial in his expression now, as though he were inviting you into a private world behind the formal walls of the palace.

“You know very well that with me, you may speak freely.”

A brief silence followed. Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

“At least until you give me a reason to regret saying so.”