The Sultan's Rose

A Glimpse of Chaos and Ascension

Years later, Nesrin would reflect on that day, that day when she first set foot in the Ottoman Empire. She never told anyone about that day, however. Never spoke of it. She rarely- if ever- mentioned her life before she came into the harem. She never said anything about the day she was captured or the day she was sold as a slave. Those memories she took with her to her crypt in the grand mosque built by her husband, far from the land of her birth. And while many people came to pay their respects, they could only imagine how it began, only look in awe at the crypt of a slave girl who became an empress...

Fatma Sultan sighed, bored.

"How is the training of the new girl, Ayşe?" She asked.

Ayşe bowed. "She has taken to her education like a fish to water, my sultana. She is very dilligent, and appears to cherish every part of her learning. She in quite talented."

"Excellent, just make sure you don't go slack on her," Fatma leaned back against the divan fingers beckoning a maid forward to massage her temples and forehead. Another maid took off her jewellery.

"If I may ask, my sultana... You do not intend to give this new girl to the sultan." Ayşe trailed off hesitantly.

"No." The answer came as a blunt statement. "It would be a waste anyway. His Majesty, my brother has sired five strong sons, but none in recent years. Sancha is young."

If she gave Sancha to her brother now there would be little chance of her producing a prince, even if Mustafa summoned her to his bed. And if she did bear a son, there would be five grown princes already ahead of the child in terms of training and support. When Mustafa died, and it may be soon, no one would support a mere child as opposed to five grown princes, even if one of them was a sot and the other mentally deficient. The child would be strangled, and the five remaining brothers- or at least their supporters and puppeteers- would contend for the throne. None of her nephews would thank Fatma for being responsible for another rival, and even if she was childless, Sancha would be shut away with the other childless but deflowered concubines of Mustafa. No one would lie with a woman their father already lay with.

But if Mustafa knew she had an exceptionally lovely slave in this harem... No, Fatma would make sure he would never find out. Sancha would only go to his successor- the one she would be certain would succeed him.

"So this one..."

"Will be given over to a prince, as a gift," Fatma stated bluntly. The message was clear: no more questions.

"Ayşe, Dilan Kalfa," She announced, opening one eye. "Observe her. See how she reacts to the new girls around her. Instruct her in the harem hierarchy. We must keep her from the sight of the court. For now, let's keep our eyes on Prince Mehmet. He appears to be the most likely candidate, but we'll never know. Suppose Mustafa kills him off like Şehzade Bayezid, because of our sultan's paranoia, especially as Mehmet now is becoming quite popular. A handsome, talented, highly capable and intelligent son with the rumoured support of the janissaries could easily unseat his father."

Ayşe gave a startled gasp and Dilan Kalfa grew pale. "My Sultana," she choked out. "It is treason to say such things-"

"Where it can spread." Fatma Sutlan stood from her divan, pushing away the scented wet cloth Esmeray was dabbing on her forehead. "It is wise to anticipate these things. You say Sancha is a clever girl?" Ayşe nodded mutely. 

"Then she must simply learn. We keep her from my brother Mustafa's sight and hearing. I will not give her away until a successor is chosen and guaranteed. And she must learn that the world she is about to enter is more dangerous than a lion's den."