location & setting: the valide’s apartments, couvent des célestins
closed to @validemahidevran
the valide turned a deaf ear to vacuous gossip, and yet every so often, mahidevran could be entreated by a piece of information that proved valuable to her; appearing ostensibly aloof, her nest unfeathered by mindless talk, albeit dilşah knew her mistress better than to presume it entered one ear and exited the next. she would mull on it until the moment it became lucrative to her––or, perhaps, threatening. then, as all great women, she would act covertly: deploying her spies or her son to resolve the issue. dilşah bided her time to share the tidings she’d heard from another woman in the seraglio until mahidevran had finished her morning tea, only a singular lemon slice floating at the surface of the lukewarm amber drink. when her tea was nearly empty, the valide was at her most content; left to brew over the day’s upcoming appearances as a groom brewed another cup. quietly, mahidevran sat with her hands in her lap and her autumnal head, tilted with the weight of the prolific jewels she sported, brimful with thoughts. even to her most trusted ladies, dilşah among them, she would not speak.
“ mehd-i ulya, ” the cariye beckoned in that signature voice of hers… an alloy of sweetness, coyness, and rasp. she paused until the valide’s eyes found hers, granting her an implicit confirmation to ensue, “ i wonder if your highness has had a moment to meet with your grandson, the şehzade murad, since arriving in paris. i am told the eyes and ears are trained upon our beloved prince for a most... miraculous reason. ”
