Selim’s eyes glittered in the candle-lit dark and he nodded slowly, the corners of his lips quirking upwards at the sound of her voice. Though what she said was far from cheerful, he could not have said so better, himself.
“Your thoughts could not be more like mine,” he replied, shaking his head. He had often heard that husband and wife were one flesh, but he thought it all the more superior that they might be of one mind, as well.
He sank into the seat beside her comfortably. Whatever else the evening had been, it had been exhausting, and he could think of no better remedy than this domestic scene. But, then, he suspected, Ottoman women had a touch of magic about them, that way. It had been so, for example, with his first wife, Ismihan Hatun (who had been the daughter of his unfortunate predecessor - a man who had made the mortal mistake of opposing Mahidevran). He could not begin to guess whether it was a skill taught to noble ladies, or simply an innate power, but the building of a restful home meant more to him than he could say.
“It seems to me a great pretense, this suspension of war that they call peace. Could there have been anything more incidiary than the so-called Prince’s remarks? In other circumstances, I cannot account for how such a speech following such events might have been answered.” He could only hope they did not proceed as things had ended in Florence, but he was not about to mention the riots to his wife. She had suffered too much of them, as it was, and he would not brook even their mention in her presence, if he could help it.
He glanced away from her quickly at the mention of Hürrem, and of harm to her. He prayed she did not note his discomfort. It was not a subject he’d yet learned to broach in any way with his new wife.
Selim shook his head at her remark about the Prince’s mourning. “I marked that, as well,” he replied. “I confess, I…” he paused, arched his brows. “If I learned that such a fate had befallen my own brother, I could not turn my back with such economy.” He swallowed hard. Selim rarely spoke of his birth family, and he half-regretted speaking of them, now, as it meant thinking of them. He stood again, abruptly. “It almost causes one to wonder who may have been behind their demise,” he added, suggestively, preferring this route of thought to that of his Berisha relatives. “It could be argued, after all, that he has much as any to gain from their deaths.” But, then, he had been thinking much of fratricide of late, fearing the fate of Melek’s own brothers.
Hearing her words, Selim’s brow contorted with concern. He sank slowly to his knees before her, stretching out his arms to touch both her shoulders. “I promise you, efendim,” he replied, earnestly. “I am vigilant against the horrors that arose at the last. I am here to defend you against any ills, whatever they may be, and I shall remain at your side so long as you wish me to be there. You have my word.” It was not that he did not agree with her about the perils - for he did - but he meant what he said. He saw himself as her shield and he meant to uphold this standard, whatever it took.
Selim’s hands fell slowly from her shoulders. He agreed with her on that as well, but where a daughter may speak against the hopes of a Sultan, Selim did not feel equal to that privilege. He might counsel against it - and had - but once a decision was made, it was his to abide in good faith with the Sultan’s purpose. “I think you may…be aware of my own opinions on the matter,” he said, looking at his hands. “But as we are here, we must focus on what we can achieve. In addition to the Christians, there are many other nations who might do us some good and those are opportunities I mean to pursue. Furthermore,” he added, biting his lip. “If we should…happen to find a trustworthy Christian,” he added with a splash of dark humor glittering in his eyes. “Would that not be a historic moment, worthy of our attention?”
with ahmed, her first husband, melek had thought them to be a good match and therefore she had entered the union in typical melek - fashion; reservedly excited. he had made a name for himself on the battle field, securing the sultan numerous victories and had been justly awarded a place on the dÎvân - ı hûmâyûn for his service to the empire. a dutiful daughter, melek had made a promise not to protest any match that her father presented her with –– after all, her position as a daughter of the dynasty set her apart from other wives, she would have privileges not afforded to many, including the importance of respect.
regardless, ahmed’s youth and vitality pleasantly surprised her and her marriage became more a joy than duty. in their short time together, they had become a team, one unified in their beliefs and objectives, and when he had died it was not only a husband that she mourned but a partner too.
with selim she very much felt the same as when she married ahmed ––– reservedly excited. it was true that she harboured sentiments for selim long before a betrothal was arranged; they were good friends, united in grief for their dearly departed spouses and shared a mutual adoration in the empire and a common aspiration for the direction it should be steered into. once more melek had been fortunate in marriage and of late, selim was one of her only joys.
melek listened to his words with the same attentiveness he had shown to her, and found herself readily agreeing with every word. as selim himself confessed, their thoughts were one in the same.
the sultana did falter, however, at the mention of sibling deaths. there was a long standing tradition of fratricide in the dynasty, a nasty topic that had always left a bitter taste to linger –– it was not spoken of, but melek supposed that her own father, or rather mahidevran, had been dealt that unfortunate hand. yet, melek knew her father and his loving heart, there was certainly no way that such sorrow did not haunt iskender, even if was something that he had to do. it would likely be something that she too could be forced to come to terms with, in years to come. ❛ nor could i. ❜ melek responded quietly, her gaze dipping slightly as she pondered eventualities beyond her control. though she was aware that in supporting one brother, she was effectively going against another.
❛ very much so. especially considering all that i hear regarding the former crown prince, who seemingly has little interest in power. ❜ not that she could begrudge him that, it was often a double edged sword.
watching selim move before her, a tender smile curled at melek’s lips and her hands folded in her lap as he took gentle hold of her shoulders. ❛ i know you are, husband and i must confess that the only reason i am able to be in portugal at all is because of your steadfast presence beside me. ❜ a hand rose to smooth over his and with a gentle squeeze, melek gave a small sigh of relief ––– her fears sated, at least for the night.
a chill caressed her spine as he removed his hands from her shoulders; having spent the best part of two years shying away from human contact besides that of her sons, it felt good to finally open oneself to the sensation of touch once more, especially selim’s.
for one who had been adopted into the empire, melek had always marvelled at selim’s loyalty to her father ––– it was something that she greatly admired, and so she could understand his trepidation in committing to her mild criticism, even if he did ultimately agree with her. ❛ very well … but what nations would they be, selim ? please, enlighten me to your thoughts because i am failing to see what achievements could not have been gained back home. ❜
with his quip, melek looked at him pointedly but could not help the slight twitch of her lips in amusement. ❛ i dare say we would sooner see pigs fly. ❜ she retorted with a shake of her head, ❛ yet whilst you tease me, i do detect a sliver of truth in your words ––– do you truly think we might find someone worthy of our attentions, selim ? ❜
