know your place

The sapphire is beautiful. And she is poisonous || Nehir, sister to the Sultan.

[sultananehir-blog]

ottomanconsort‌:

arzu was still trying to figure out nehir, the women had been so gentle and kind to her once she married her brother. but still that had not stopped her from asking her ladies to dress her in three different outfits before going to nehir’s chambers. she curtsied once she was announced and looked to her husband’s sister.

she blinked, not excepting the women to be dressed in…. so little. she blinked again looking around, looking everywhere but nehir. she ended up looking tot he floor. “is that…?” she asked, but they really both knew the answer, no she was not. “we haven’t been married that long.”

Nehir wrung out her hair, and wondered if it was worth the fun of insisting Arzu bathe. She had to be careful with her; Arzu was the daughter of a merchant yes, but a muslim merchant from her father’s own empire. She had not been trained in the more free spirited ways of the harem. 

“Hmmph,” she said, letting her hair fall in a wet tangle over her shoulder. “Then why do you look so miserable? You do not have the sickness that comes with children. I know it is wretched, this France, but surely there is something that could make that sour expression more happy. 

“.....It’s this palace, isn’t it? Its walls?” 

[sultananehir-blog]

emperorholyalone‌:

Sleep was hard to find, and not for trying. There was a restlessness in his very bones, it seemed, since arriving that made it nearly impossible to achieve more than an hour or two of sleep. Nighttime wandering were perhaps not the most intelligent idea, but there was little else to do, and the night held secrets the day was afraid of sharing.

He was surprised to see a figure rounding the corner, with no candle to guide her, and was perhaps even more surprised to realize who it was. It was impossible for the sight of her not to send his mind reeling with the possibility of why she may be visiting her brother in the dead of night, a fresh wave of paranoia washing over his already tired body. Still, there was no need to show it. And so Conrad offered her something of a half smile

“And what would you say if I told you I was doing the same?” he inquired, raising a dark brow. 

A lie, of course, nearly a joke, more meant to delay her than anything else.

She was not, of course, on her way to see the Sultan. Rather an alcove in another hallway, already pre-chosen, where a dark figure would pass her a silk bag. She prayed briefly, asking Allah to give her servant the good sense to flee if she didn’t show up soon. Then she smiled, appeared as amused as possible by the Roman imbecile’s joke.

“Then I would say that I’m afraid the Sultan would not be able to take an audience, though he no doubt would be willing to meet with you when the sun has risen. You see, when a Sultan finds himself wanting, it is up to my mother and I to choose a concubine for him. And it would be entirely improper for a concubine to spend the night in a Sultan’s bed, you understand.” She tilted her head. “I must go retrieve her, and see that she has honored herself and the Sultan.

“Of course, if you insist on accompanying me your Majesty, I would not deny you,” she began walking, staring straight ahead. 

[sultananehir-blog]

aminalhashimi‌:

She had half-expected the hallways to be void of people as wandering in the dark could be seen as a nefarious activity. Amina herself was painfully aware she should have been fast asleep instead of roaming about without any real reason. She had simply been having a hard time falling asleep and had thought a small walk could possibly ease her nerves and help her rest. 

Still, if she absolutely needed to run into someone, a countrywoman she knew seemed like a safe bet. “Of course, Sultana. Are you in need of any assistance?” 

In the dark she had assumed it was one of the palace’s servants, a girl on some errand that while illicit was nowhere near as terrible as Nehir’s. To hear the soft, familiar voice made her tense in surprise. 

“Amina? What are you doing?” she grasped the girl’s arm roughly and pulled her to the side, eyes darting wildly to see if anyone was around. Internally she cursed her for using her title. What if someone overheard? 

“Does anyone know you’re here?” she hissed. “Has anyone seen you? Answer me!” 

[sultananehir-blog]

It was the middle of the night when Nehir slipped from her chambers. She had not even dared to light a candle to take with her, instead relying on the moonlight that streamed through the wide windows and torches that lined the hallways. She could not be caught carrying out the task at hand, and she trusted no one else to do this. If she failed, it would be her head presented to the french king. Such were the risks of treason. 

She kept her head bowed, slippers making no noise. She had a package to pick up, passed from the hands of an unsuspecting stableboy to a cook to a maid to a eunuch. There was much silver to be dispensed if all went well. 

Turning the corner, she spotted someone down the corridor. No time to hide, but no matter. Nehir would not still be alive if she wasn’t able to think quickly. 

“Excuse me. I am going to the Sultan’s chambers,” she said smoothly. 

[sultananehir-blog]

@ottomanconsort

Nehir might have to live among the french for the time being, but she certainly didn’t have to smell like them. Along with the harem she brought the baths, or the closest replica that could travel for miles on the backs of horses and camels. She sat in a poor excuse for a bathing room with her servants pouring water over her hair and scraping the hair from her legs with a sharp smelling paste and a mollusk shell. Usually. she quite enjoyed bath time, but today she was just annoyed. Arzu should have been here half an hour ago. 

“Finally! There you are,” she said, clutching the towel around her torso. “We mustn’t let these Christian ways bring us ill health. Saruca, give her the rose water for her skin,” she nodded towards a servant girl. “Now, I have a question for you. Are you pregnant?” 

[sultananehir-blog]

scrrcwed‌:

          a smile on aveline’s wan face has always been a rarity, even moreso in the past years; what is not rare is for those unusual smiles to be directed at her son. “gustav,  mon petit chou, where are you?” a peal of giggles draws her attention across the gardens. she is caught in a game of hide-and-seek with the six year old, a game he is quite adept at, it would seem. light footsteps carry her towards her son’s hiding spot, turning the corner with eyes alight with merriment - only for it to drop to something more somber upon realizing her sons hiding place has also been discovered by a woman she does not recognize.           “my apologies, i do hope we did not disturb you,” she motions for gustav to come to her, which he does. small fingers wrap around hers even as the young boy eyes the stranger with merry curiosity which stands in stark relief of the unsure solemnity of his mother’s gaze. @sultananehir

It had begun as an aimless walk meant to clear her head, but Nehir soon found her thoughts straying to her children. It was inevitable in these quiet moments. She’d just sent off a letter and it would be days before the response, and the stretch of time between correspondence was unbearable. Of course, France was no place for good muslim children, and there was no way Nehir could miss out on this trip. It was an evil that had to be done, but an evil nonetheless. 

When she turned the corner, hands idly brushing against the tall hedges, she found a boy. Small, ruddy cheeked, and only by himself for a moment before his mother motioned for him to come to her. 

“Do not apologize,” she smiled sadly. “Hello little one,” she said to the boy. “What is your name?” 

[sultananehir-blog]

tsarnikolai‌:

“ You speak of honour as if it is something you can request, or demand. ” Nikolai stepped forward, inviting himself to join their conversation. “ As if it is something you can throw coins at or pray to the gods to give it to you. But pray tell, what honour do you seek within these walls, with your fine silks and barrels of wine that keep you docile and naive? ”

“But your highness, sometimes honor is given to those who ask,” Nehir said smoothly, standing up to bow to him. “For example, you honor me with your presence. And did I not request it?” she snapped her fingers at a servant girl, a pretty slave from Russia. The girl hurried to pour the coffee. “No wine I am afraid, but don’t tell me you don’t enjoy your wife in fine silks. How is her majesty the Tsarina?” 

[sultananehir-blog]

rcsettes‌:

“  if you’re going to yell at me some more for the welcome ball – – mon chéri , DON’T strain your vocal cords . i’m too inebriated to listen to you anyway .  ”   her figure was stretched upon the velvet blue chaise – – somehow her eyes struck a deeper and more vivid color than pigments , blonde hair falling over her face and her white silk nighrobe covered much less that what was appropriate for foreign eyes . there was a short moment of silence before she cracked open her eyes . even in such state she looked like aphrodite in bloom , springing to life , flushed and radiant .  ( there was a reason she was called DAME DE BEAUTÉ ) . “  oh , you are not my husband . ”

however , there was no shame nor guilt in her voice . it fell to the cold marble floor as a flat fact . a statement more than anything else . 

Nehir may have to live in France for the time being, but that did not mean she had to subject herself to the ridiculous ways of the French. So she brought the harem with her wherever she went, hand selecting a few talented girls to entertain her and bed her brother when appropriate. She had an entourage of musicians, dancers, and guards. Fine silk tapestries hung from the walls, and servants were always rushing about, preparing baths whenever she wanted. 

When a woman burst in, her tone thickly accented, all the heads whipped around to stare. Everyone was silent for a beat, waiting for Nehir’s reaction. 

“No,” she said, raising her glass to her lips. “You husband would not be welcome here, in fact. Not in the harem.” 

[sultananehir-blog]

Hande Doğandemir, 28, Ottoman Empire. ––– i believe that is Nehir Sultan, Imperial Princess and sister of the Sultan. they are twenty eight years old and are known to be very + clever & + observant, though they can also be very - violent & - disloyal. they feel betrayal about the end of the great war. 

Meet Nehir.

As a daughter of the Sultan and one of his favorite concubines, Nehir grew up in the harem in luxury. To say she was well educated is an understatement; Nehir was given a world class education for anyone, male or female. History, politics, mathematics, astronomy, art, music, poetry. Nehir loved it all, and soaked up information like a sponge. 

With her knowledge came a sort of haughtiness. She was beautiful and intelligent, and she knew it. She worked hard to stay in the good graces of her father, the Sultan, and her brothers. As the imperial princess, she had more freedom than most women in the harem and used it to cultivate relationships with members of the military. 

When she was fifteen, the war began. By then her older brother was coming into his own and the favorite to be the heir. Nehir did everything she could to ensure his ascension to the throne, including ordering the murder of a son of one of her father’s concubine. Her brother does not know this. 

When she was eighteen, she was married off to a local lord. She had twins, a boy named Mehmed and a girl named Layla. Her husband died in the war and her brother has yet to remarry her to someone else. 

Nehir is furious at the war’s end, and thinks her brother is weak. 

With all the royalty here, this would be the perfect time to complete some assassinations and cripple the Christian empires, but she has yet to convince her brother this is the correct plan. 

[kosem-empress]