he jumped to sit at a nearby table, taking into account the new room he will be staying at. turthfully, he didn’t MIND staying at the quarters he had been appointed to –– - it was a smaller room, significantly so, but it served its purpose. he had familiarized himself around the place, made secret places around it. but of course, he had to be placed close to the sultana now, and not near the rest of the italian entourage.
casted his gaze yet again to karoline, sweet karoline. ihsan had always liked her company, something carefree about her that only giovanni could enjoyed –– - now, as ihsan he could not afford to do any of it anymore. “ah –– - karoline. it’s not giovanni anymore, or have the spiteful words not reached you yet?” the french queen, the rest of the people he had BEFRIENDED in russia, most of all, the lovely italian royal family. NO DOUBT in his mind that all had scorned him, the hurt in their PRIDE (for these royals had no heart ; perhaps PIETRO, dear and deceived) could only find salvation in talking ill of him. ihsan had deserved it –– - he supposed. ihsan gave a nod of his head, beckoning her to join him
“are you going to join them, karoline?” question slipped past his lips was HEAVY with underlying intent, unreadable and indescribable. whereas giovanni had been GOLD and LIGHT, ihsan had been darkness and nightmares. “and before you asked –– - for it is a question everyone asked of me,” he sighed and propped his weight on his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “it’s sağyaşar paşa. sağyaşar ihsan paşa.”
Karoline frowned as he spoke, a real frown this time, not one mostly intended in jest. She had not heard any news of him, no, but then she hadn’t been listening lately, had she? No, she’d been trying to keep her head down, her work above reproach, and her path calm for a while. She only knew that she couldn’t find him for weeks now, though now that she thought about it... perhaps there was some darkness to the looks she had received when searching for him.
This was all running circles through her head as he spoke, beckoning her to join him at the table. She did not. Only when she finally couldn’t understand the words this newly-accented Giovanni--not Giovanni?--said did she speak. “What?” she blurted, brows furrowed and eyes confused. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she told him, hands twisting together. She shook her head. “Any of it, even the words I do know.” She walked a step or two, the beginning of pacing, before spinning to look back at him. “Am I going to join who? Who’s talking about you? What did you do, Gio--” She stopped short, not finishing the name that no longer was his apparently.
