-Behiç, my beauty. I promise that we will always be together- Sultan Osman told Behiç. But, after battling with a disease, Sultan Osman dies suddenly, leaving Behiç to figure out how to move forward with her children. MC/K. Updates weekly, this is m...
Behic stood at the window of her chambers, staring out at the horizon as the golden sun dipped low, casting the empire in a soft, fleeting light. It had been two days since Osman's passing, but the grief felt as raw as if it had just happened.
Abdul and Sanavber, nearly eleven now, had taken their father's death in different ways. Abdul had retreated into himself, his youthful energy replaced by a somber silence that concerned Behic deeply. Sanavber, on the other hand, tried to fill the void with chatter and laughter, though Behic could see the cracks in her brave facade. Their father's death had hit them both hard, and Behic struggled with her own grief while trying to be strong for them.
"Am I truly strong enough for this?" she whispered to herself, clutching the window frame as the memories of her past swirled back into her mind.
Before she was Behic Sultan, she had been Valencia. A name from a life that felt more like a dream now, one that was fading with each passing day. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to slip into that distant past—back to Italy, back to the girl she had been before the Ottoman Empire had become her reality.
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Valencia had grown up in a small coastal town in Italy, where the salty breeze carried the scent of the sea, and the sun always seemed to shine a little brighter. She had been the daughter of a merchant, raised in comfort but not luxury. Her father, a kind man with a laugh that could brighten any room, often brought home exotic goods from his travels. She remembered the colorful fabrics, the strange spices, and the stories he would tell of distant lands.
Valencia had loved to run barefoot through the vineyards with her friends, her wild hair tangled by the wind. She had been free then, untouched by the harshness of the world. She had dreams, though they were simple—perhaps she would marry a local boy, live a quiet life by the sea, and raise children who would one day chase the waves just as she had.
But that life had been stolen from her.
She was barely fourteen when it happened. Her father had been away on one of his trips, and Valencia had been tending to her mother's garden when they came—the pirates. It had been swift, chaotic. She was no match for them. They bound her, threw her onto the deck of their ship, and by the time the sun set that day, she was already on her way to a foreign land.
Valencia became a concubine in the imperial harem. For months, she had fought to hold onto her identity, to remember who she had been, but the harem had its own rules, its own hierarchy. She learned quickly that survival meant adaptation. She became Behic, the name bestowed upon her by the palace. She was taught to behave like an Ottoman woman, to speak their language, to follow their customs.
In time, she caught the eye of Osman, then a young prince. He had been different from the others—gentler, kinder. He had made her feel seen, like Valencia still existed beneath the surface of Behic. Their love had grown slowly, quietly, but it had been real. When Osman became sultan, he had elevated her status, giving her a position of power within the palace. Behic had risen from a stolen girl in a foreign land to the mother of two children, loved by the most powerful man in the empire.
But now that man was gone, and she was left to rule in his place.
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