Shezade Mehmet turned around as I gawked. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, so far here and in England. And let me tell you, I dined with the highest class in Europe.
"Are you princess Amelia?" He asked kindly, while his eyes looked up and down on me. I straightened up and smiled.
"Yes, I am Princess Amelia of the House of Tudor, pleased to meet you." The prince nodded and said,
"I'm sure you already know who I am- Shezade Mehmet Hazretdleri." I was pondering whether or not to bow- but then the Shezade walked up to me and got very close.
"You are very beautiful, you know?" I blushed and looked down. Mehmet was taller than me- at least 6 feet, but as he leaned down he was no more than an inch away from me. My breath hitched as I backed up, trying to come up with a conversation. This was becoming very awkward, until he broke the silence.
"I trust you met my mother and my siblings already?"
I nodded quickly. "Yeah, Mihrimah Sultana is very nice."
"And periodically a bit annoying," Mehmet added, "You know, siblings."
At this I shook my head. "I wouldn't know. I don't have any." Shezade looked shocked, and I elaborate.
"I don't have any siblings. I am simply an only child."
"That's a bit disappointing. Though I guess, sibling rivalry and issues won't be a problem for you."
I agreed with this. Life was certainly much easier for me without siblings, and any sort of "problems" that could happen. I heard that Ottoman Sultans execute their brothers upon ascending the throne. I certainly hoped my future husband wouldn't do so. My future husband.
The thought was hard to process, but acceptable.
I stole another glance at Sehzade Mehmet from under my lashes. The conversation about siblings had been... enlightening. The weight of Ottoman tradition settled heavily on my heart. Marrying a prince meant a life of luxury, but also one tinged with the ever-present threat of death. Perhaps my lack of siblings was a blessing in disguise – no potential rivals for Mehmet's affections, no lives hanging in the precarious balance of succession.
"Would you like to see the gardens?" Mehmet offered, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. I suspected he'd read the turmoil in your eyes. The palace gardens, sprawling and meticulously maintained, were a haven within the palace walls. Even though it was evening, the sky darkening, it was truly lovely. Wandering beneath the shade of cypress trees, the scent of jasmine and rose heavy in the air, a sense of calm washed over me.
Mehmet pointed out hidden courtyards and trickling fountains, his knowledge of the palace grounds impressive. He spoke of his childhood spent exploring its secret nooks, a stark contrast to your own, filled with uncertainty and upheaval. As the sun began its descent, casting the gardens in a warm glow, Mehmet stopped by a secluded pavilion. White roses, my personal favorite, twined around the structure. I had a whole favorite bush in England, at one of our places. Ah, I'll have to get one here.
"This was my mother's favorite spot," Mehmet explained, gesturing for me to sit. My heart hammered in my chest as I perched at the edge of the cool marble bench nearby. He sat beside me, a comfortable silence settling between us. The weight of tradition still lingered, but so did a spark of something unexpected.
"I understand your apprehension," Mehmet spoke softly, his gaze fixed on the setting sun. "The customs here are... different, to say the least." He turned to me, his eyes searching mine as the remaining streaks from the sun covered the sky. "But know this, Amelia. If we are to walk this path together, it will be a path we forge ourselves." His words, sincere and unexpected, brought a warmth to my cheeks.
I looked to him and met his gaze, a flicker of hope igniting within me. Perhaps, just perhaps, love could blossom even amidst the rigid traditions of the Ottoman court. A love story, unlike any other, waiting to be written.