Conqueror | Murad III

chapter seventeen

Due to my paranoia, I insisted that they run multiple tests on Hanzade to ensure her health, and thankfully she is perfectly fine.

It had been months since her birth, and while the palace had slowly resumed its usual rhythm, everything had changed for me. My heart no longer beat with the quiet resignation that once defined my life. Instead, it fluttered—tentative at first, uncertain—then with growing warmth every time Murad was near. I knew my feelings were not just about love, but about securing a future for my children. Gaining his love would bring them safety, and I was determined to make sure they never had to fear the uncertainty that had once marked my life.

The children kept me occupied, of course. Selim and Mihrimah's laughter filled the halls, and little Hanzade, now with her wide blue eyes and delicate coos, added an undeniable sweetness to the chambers. But even amidst this lively chaos, I found my thoughts lingering on one man—Murad. He had become a fixture in my world, his visits, though brief, now infused with a tenderness I hadn't anticipated.

It was early one morning when I received the note. I had been kneeling by Hanzade's cradle, brushing her soft curls back from her forehead, when a servant gave it to me. It was carefully folded, the scent of rosewater faint on the paper. I knew instantly it was from him. His handwriting—sharp, yet elegant—had become as familiar to me as my own.

"To my Hatice,

With you, I find not just peace but the sweetest of joys.

Murad."

I pressed the note to my chest, my breath catching in my throat. His words weren't simply kind; they felt different. It wasn't the formality of a prince's decree or the stiff pleasantries of a royal. It was something softer, more intimate. My heart fluttered in response, but doubt crept in too. What if it was nothing more than politeness? A gesture of familiarity, not affection?

Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was something more.

The next morning, I found myself in my chambers again, sitting with an embroidery hoop in my hands, my thoughts drifting back to his note. I worked slowly, and carefully, weaving the petals of a tulip onto the cloth. It was Murad's favourite flower—something he'd once mentioned in passing, years ago, in a fleeting conversation. As I worked, I imagined him holding the gift in his hands, his eyes softening as he read my note.

I wrote:

"Şehzadem,

The tulip bends toward the sun, as my heart bends toward you."

I was almost certain he would see the gesture as nothing more than a gentle offering. But as I wrapped the handkerchief in silk and sent it to his chambers, I found myself hoping, hoping that this small gesture might bridge the gap between us.

When Murad arrived that evening, the air felt charged. There was something different in the way he moved—his steps lighter, his gaze searching for me. I met his eyes, my pulse quickening, but I said nothing at first. He paused before the small table where I had set a lamp, and I could see the handkerchief nestled against the other gifts I had arranged for him.

"You've outdone yourself, Hatice'm," he said softly, his eyes lingering on the fabric. His smile was tender—so much so that my chest tightened. "It's beautiful."

His gaze remained on the handkerchief, and I waited, unsure whether he would say anything more. He picked it up carefully, as though handling something precious, his fingers tracing the embroidered petals of the tulip. There was a hesitation in his movements, as if weighing his words.

"As are your words," I replied quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your note... It meant so much to me."

Murad's smile deepened, though there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes—something unspoken, just out of reach. His gaze flickered to me, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur. The weight of his attention was almost too much to bear. I didn't know whether to lean closer or step back.

For a long while, we sat in silence, neither of us breaking the moment. The stillness was thick with unvoiced things. Finally, he set the handkerchief down, his fingers lingering on the delicate fabric. "I'm grateful for your presence, Hatice," he said, his voice quiet, yet full of something heavier—something that made my heart stutter in response. "You have... a way of making everything feel brighter."

The words were simple, but there was a weight to them. My heart thudded louder, but I fought to keep my voice steady. "And you, Murad, along with our children, have a way of making the days feel... worth living."

He met my gaze, and for a moment, I thought he might say more. But instead, he reached out, gently cupping Hanzade's cheek as she slept nearby. His tenderness toward her, the way he leaned in close to her, whispering softly to her as if she could understand, softened the tension in my chest. Perhaps it wasn't just the gift or the words—it was his actions. How he was present, truly present, even in the smallest moments.

After a while, we moved to the gardens for a quiet evening picnic. The air had cooled, the sky now painted in hues of lavender and gold. A lute player strummed in the distance, adding a quiet melody to the evening. Murad and I sat next to each other, the shadows of the trees long and soft around us.

Murad's gaze softened as he glanced at me, his voice thoughtful. "I've been thinking," he began, "About how little time we have just for ourselves. It's always the palace, the children, the duties... But what if we could find moments just for us? To talk in peace, take meals together, or sit in the garden without anyone needing us?"

I looked at him, surprised by the longing in his words. "You mean, like real moments alone?" I asked, my heart stirring.

He nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Just us. No distractions. Just time to... be."

I felt a rush of warmth in my chest. "I would like that very much," I whispered.

Murad's lips curved into a soft smile, and he reached out, taking my hand in his. The touch was warm, gentle, but also uncertain—like he was testing the waters, unsure whether this moment was something we could hold onto.

For a brief, fleeting second, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps, someday, I might be more than just a comfort to him. I might be something deeper, something real. But the moment slipped away as quickly as it had come, and I was left once more with the uncertainty of his heart, still clouded by his feelings for Safiye.

Trying a new writing style... again... I'm trying to add more depth to other characters, let me know if you like it!

Would you be interested in chapters narrated from other characters' point of view?