Caterina spent her whole life being underlooked and misunderstood.
Hatice spent her whole teenage years chasing a man who loved another.
But Hüsniye became more than a pawn. She became a queen. She conquered the heart of the Ottoman Sultan, the hear...
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The news hit me like a blow to the chest. Hatice—no, Hüsniye—was now Murad's haseki. My mind reeled, trying to reconcile the announcement with what I thought I understood about the world of the harem. There was no precedent for this, not while Valide Sultan was still alive. The role of haseki wasn't just a title; it was a declaration of love, favouritism, and power. And it wasn't mine.
A part of me had always held onto a sliver of hope, foolish as it might have been. I thought that perhaps, in time, he would see me, truly see me, as more than just one among the many. I had dreamed that I might be the one to hold his heart. Now that dream lay shattered, and it wasn't the Valide, or the other consorts, or the politics of the court that had crushed it. It was Hatice—Hüsniye.
I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me. I remembered when Hatice first arrived at the harem. She had been younger than me, quieter, with an innocence that seemed almost out of place here. She was kind, too kind for a place like this, and she welcomed me with open arms when I was still finding my footing.
When we both became favourites, our nights were often spent whispering to each other in the dark, sharing stories, fears, and dreams. Back then, we were equals—or so I had thought. Even then, though, the signs had been there. I saw the way Murad looked at her. The way his gaze lingered on her longer than on anyone else. The way his voice softened when he spoke to her.
I told myself it didn't matter. That it was fleeting and inconsequential, but when I lay awake in my chambers, I couldn't ignore the truth that burned in my chest. He chose her. Again and again, he chose her. Even when we were both summoned to his chambers, it was her he kissed goodnight. Her whose hand he lingered on before sending us away.
And me? I had been here for over a decade. I was twenty-two years old, a mother to his child, and yet, I had never known his lips. Not once. Not in all these years. I could hardly call myself his favourite when the truth was so stark: I had been overlooked.
Why her?
What did Hatice have that I lacked? What was it about her that captivated him so completely? Was it her quiet strength, her grace? Was it her laugh, or the way her eyes lit up when she smiled?
I had tried to emulate her, once. I thought that if I could be more like Hatice, then maybe Murad would see me. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. I was never enough.
The bitterness that I had suppressed for so long began to bubble to the surface, sharp and unrelenting. I loved Hatice once. She was my closest confidante, the sister I never had. But now, all I could feel was the sting of betrayal. How could she? How could she take the one thing I longed for and make it her own?
But deep down, beneath the anger and the jealousy, there was something else. A hollow ache. It wasn't just Murad's love I craved—it was the validation, the knowledge that I mattered, that I was more than just a forgotten shadow in the gilded halls of the palace.
