Conqueror | Murad III

chapter sixty-nine

"Valide Sultan," I bowed before my mother-in-law, who greeted me with a warm smile and motioned for me to sit beside her upon the velvet divan. One of her maids approached immediately with a delicate porcelain cup filled with tea sweetened by honey—my favourite—and I thanked her quietly before wrapping my hands around the warmth.

Nurbanu Sultan studied me carefully as I settled beside her. Age had not softened her gaze; it remained sharp, observant, capable of seeing what others hid behind smiles and etiquette.

"Hüsniye," she asked gently, "how are you truly?"

The question lingered between us longer than it should have. I lowered my eyes to the amber tea in my hands, watching the honey swirl slowly into it like gold dissolving beneath water.

"Each day feels a little like treason," I admitted softly. "How am I meant to enjoy my beautiful granddaughter when neither of her parents remain in this world? Just when I was beginning to survive the loss of my Selim, Ümmügülsüm followed him."

The Valide's expression dimmed with sympathy. "You must not think that way. They would find peace knowing Ayşe Güneş has you to raise her, to love her as your own."

"She should have had her mother," I whispered. "Selim should have held his daughter. He should have watched her grow."

Nurbanu sighed quietly and turned her gaze toward the tall windows overlooking the gardens. The afternoon sun painted the marble in pale gold, and somewhere outside I could hear faint laughter from the younger children playing in the courtyard.

"Allah's plans work in mysterious ways," she murmured.

"That they do."

"But you must trust Him," she continued firmly. "And you must trust His justice, even when you cannot yet understand it."

I nodded slowly. "My heart is lifted toward Him."

A small smile touched her lips then. "Hold fast to that faith, child, because this palace has always tested those who live within it. Joy and grief walk these halls together, and neither stays away for long."

Her words settled heavily upon me. For a moment neither of us spoke. The silence felt strangely delicate, as though one wrong word might shatter it entirely.

"Still," she said after a pause, "it eases my heart to hear laughter again. The palace has become too familiar with mourning." Her eyes softened faintly. "Children's voices bring life back into these walls. Your granddaughter has done more for this harem than she will ever know."

I allowed myself a small smile. "The women already argue over whether she resembles Selim or Ümmügülsüm more."

"And what do you think?"

"I think she resembles survival."

That made Nurbanu chuckle softly beneath her breath. "Then she already carries your spirit."

I looked down into my tea again, though unease twisted quietly inside my chest. The palace had grown too calm these past few days. Too peaceful. It felt unnatural, like the strange stillness before a storm breaks across the sea.

Had my plan failed?

Before I could lose myself further in thought, the doors burst open.

The servant who stumbled inside looked pale and breathless, her veil half-slipping from her hair. Nurbanu straightened immediately, irritation flashing across her features.

"Have you no manners, child?" she snapped. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

The girl fell to her knees so quickly her bracelets clattered together. "Forgive me, Valide Sultanım, but I bring urgent news. Terrible news."