𝗜𝗩𝗬 ❜ REIGN

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜. Unborn

Konya, Ottoman Empire

THE ECHOES OF VICTORY STILL REVERBERATED THROUGH KONYA'S STREETS as Safiye gazed upon the city from the palace's towering windows, the dewy hands of the morning sun painting the walled fort awash in gold.

In the heart of Konya, where the echoes of victory, of Şehzade Selim over his younger brother, met the whispers of intrigue, after all, who would dare lay claim to the Sultan's throne, Safiye's world had yet to be truly disturbed.

In the tranquil mornings of Kubadabad Palace, built by the Seljuk Sultan Kayqubad himself, Safiye marvelled, she had begun to relish the simple pleasures that set the rhythm of her days. Her mornings oft began with delicate pastries, warm from the ovens, their fragrant scent of pistachio and blossom mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea.

She would often scamper after the elegant Nurbanu Sultan, consort of her elder cousin, Selim and they would stroll through the palace's enchanting rose gardens, tended meticulously by the hatuns who served there . The soft petals brushed against her fingertips as she wandered, the blooms a symphony of colour and fragrance that mirrored the rich tapestry of the palace's history.

As the morning sun painted Kubadabad Palace in a warm embrace, Safiye had risen early to the mellow sounds of a grey partridge and others of its kind. It had been one of the serving girls, Ceylan, a Circassian girl younger than her by perhaps four-or-so winters, who had delivered her the summons from Sehzade Selim to be brought to the pavilions.

It had been another, the pretty Ecrin, with dark auburn hair woven above her head, who had brought Safiye her gown for the morning, a lovely piece of verdant green with a thick cape of fur, to protect her against the morning's uninvited chill.

And it had not been long before she found her place beside her elder cousin, the victorious Şehzade Selim, whose broad stature and striking red-blonde hair commanded the attention of any and all in the room.

At his side sat the lovely Nurbanu Sultan, a vision of constant grace and beauty. Safiye often had to track her gaze elsewhere, lest she find her eyes rest on her cousin's Venetian consort for too long, such was Nurbanu's enviable beauty that had captured the loyal gaze of the (self-admittedly) notoriously lustful Selim.

The atmosphere in the room was a blend of regal tranquillity and unspoken tension. Safiye felt the weight of their presence as she was seated beside Selim, her cousin, the son of Suleiman the Magnificent, Selim who had triumphed in securing the city of Konya but not yet the right to the Ottoman throne.

A solemn undercurrent hung in the air, waiting to be addressed. It was Nurbanu who broke the silence, her voice soft as a whisper on the breeze, her sea-green eyes sharpened on the prince.

"Selim," she began, her gaze steady on Selim, "the victory over Bayezid has brought great honour to your house. However, it has also raised questions about the line of succession. The court is abuzz with whispers, and we must address this matter with clarity."

Selim's scowl deepened slightly, as if it could deepen any further, Safiye thought privately, as he seemed to consider the gravity of the situation. His broad hand grasped around a goblet, and took a sip of mulled wine, before responding, "Indeed, Nurbanu. Bayezid's defeat is a significant triumph, but it is not the end of our challenges. The throne remains elusive, and I am acutely aware of the intrigues that surround it."

A hushed tension gripped the air as Selim and Nurbanu exchanged anxious glances, and Safiye kept her eyes firmly on her meal, feigning ignorance at her cousin's sudden discomfort towards Safiye's presence and the delicate web of loyalties that bound them.