EMPIRE REWRITTEN

Chapter 34: The Price of Defiance

The court of Sultan Murad II was a study in grandeur and order. Richly woven carpets in crimson and gold stretched across the marble floors, reflecting the flickering light of brass chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceilings. The scent of rosewater lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smoke of burning incense. Courtiers and officials gathered in small clusters along the walls, their subdued whispers betraying a nervous energy.

At the far end of the hall stood the Sultan's throne, a masterwork of ebony and ivory, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Murad II entered with deliberate steps, his indigo robes adorned with golden crescents catching the light. Behind him walked Halil Pasha, his Grand Vizier, whose sharp eyes surveyed the room with habitual scrutiny.

Murad ascended the throne with practiced grace, settling himself into its high back. He adjusted the scimitar at his side—a ceremonial blade jeweled with emeralds—before raising his hand to command silence.

"Let us begin," he said, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of command.

Halil Pasha stepped forward, his head bowed slightly in deference. "My Sultan, news arrives from Rome. The conclave has chosen a new pope. Eugene IV, a Venetian..."

A murmur rippled through the court at the mention of Venice. Murad's expression darkened. "A Venetian pope? Fortune smiles strangely at the Latins. Does he bring his city's ambitions with him to St. Peter's throne?"

"Venice has not forgotten Thessalonica," Halil replied, his tone cautious. "Though they made peace with us, their pride still bleeds. A Venetian on the papal throne could become a rallying cry for our enemies in the West."

Murad leaned forward, his fingers tapping the armrest of his throne. "What do we know of this Eugene?"

"Little, my Sultan, though his ascent was swift. Rumors say he pledged half the Church's revenue to his cardinals, ensuring their loyalty before his election. His coronation was marked with a great ceremony, but there are already whispers of him uniting Western powers. Crusades, alliances—these may be his tools."

The Sultan's brow furrowed. "The Latins cling to the delusion that they can undo what has been wrought. Let them build their crusades and alliances. The walls of Thessalonica now bear our crescent."

Halil inclined his head. "Indeed, my Sultan. The treaty with Venice remains firm for now. They formally recognized our dominion over Thessalonica just last year, but their merchants still linger in our ports. Their patience is thin, though their coffers are deep."

Another advisor, a provincial governor in robes of emerald green, stepped forward. "My Sultan, with respect, a Venetian pope could wield both spiritual and material power. He could unite the Western kings in ways others have not."

Murad silenced him with a raised hand. "Let him try. Even the strongest of alliances falters under the weight of mistrust. We will keep watch, but the West is noise—nothing more for now."

The court of Sultan Murad II was alive with tension and talks. After discussing the recent election of Eugene IV, murmurs of concern filled the room. Murad II, seated upon his ornate ebony throne, raised a hand to silence the whispers.

"Enough of the West," he said firmly, his deep voice echoing across the hall. "Their games are tiresome; let us focus on matters within our own borders. The new Sanjak of Albania—how does it fare?"

Halil Pasha stepped forward, his expression composed yet cautious. "My Sultan, the restructuring progresses, but there are... challenges. The timar system has replaced much of the old nobility. Most of the timars are now in the hands of our Anatolian sipahis. The remainder, in more remote areas, have been granted to local Albanian sipahis, both Christian and Muslim."