I wake to urgent voices outside Mehmet's chambers.
His arms tighten around me reflexively before he's even conscious—a warrior's instinct. Then he's moving as a sharp knock echoes through the room.
"Enter," he commands, reaching for his robes.
Rashid appears, expression grave. "Your Highness, the Sultan requests your immediate presence."
Mehmet's jaw tightens. "Tell my father I'll be there shortly."
When Rashid leaves, Mehmet cups my face. "I need to go. Return to your chambers—it's better if you're not here when servants arrive."
"What's happened?" I ask.
"I don't know yet. But when my father summons me before dawn, it's never trivial." He kisses my forehead. "Go straight to your chambers."
The warning settles like ice in my stomach, but I nod.
He leaves, and I'm alone.
I dress quickly in yesterday's silks, still wrinkled from the floor. My body aches in ways that remind me of last night—his hands, his mouth, the possession. The memory makes me flush.
The corridors are quiet, most of the harem still sleeping. I move with practiced silence, keeping my head down.
I almost make it.
"Well, well. The Prince's favorite, sneaking back at dawn."
Gülnar's voice stops me cold. She materializes with three women flanking her like weapons. All dressed, silks pristine, expressions calculating.
"Excuse me," I say quietly, trying to pass.
They block my path. Not obviously—just enough that continuing would mean pushing through them. A deliberate trap.
"You've been gone all night," Gülnar observes, voice honey-sweet and poisonous. "Quite an achievement for someone who arrived in disgrace. Tell me, what exactly do you do to keep his attention?"
"That's between the Prince and me." I keep my voice steady. Nurbanu taught me not to rise to bait.
"Is it?" Gülnar circles me slowly, the other women maintaining their barrier. "I saw you yesterday in the gardens with Prince Selim. You seemed quite comfortable. Laughing, smiling, letting him touch your hand."
My stomach clenches. Of course she saw.
"The Prince was just being friendly," I say carefully.
"Nothing?" Gülnar's laugh is crystalline and cruel. "Strange, then, that Prince Mehmet looked ready to commit murder. One might wonder—if you spent all that time supposedly with him, why were you so comfortable with his brother? Unless the time you claim to spend in Mehmet's chambers isn't actually spent with Mehmet at all."
The insinuation lands like a blade. Around us, I can feel other women watching, listening, ready to spread Gülnar's poison.
"I'm not doing this," I say firmly, moving to step around them.
They close ranks. Four women now form a complete circle, blocking every exit. Not touching me—that would be too obvious—but making it clear I'm not leaving.
"Not doing what?" Gülnar asks innocently. "Having a simple conversation? How strange that you're so defensive."
Something inside me snaps.
I've survived nineteen years of this. Yasmin's cruelties, my mother's cold dismissals, my father's disgust. I endured it all by swallowing my rage and making myself small.
But I'm not that girl anymore. That girl died the night she chose her own destruction. What stands here now is someone who's learned she has teeth.
"You want to talk about hiding things?" The words come out quiet, controlled, but with venom beneath. "Let's talk about what you're really doing here, Gülnar."
Her eyes narrow dangerously.
"You've spent this week trying to convince me I'm worthless. Spreading rumors, orchestrating humiliations."
I take a step toward her, and she steps back. "But if I'm so worthless, why did Prince Mehmet choose me? Why does he keep choosing me? Why am I the one he brings to his chambers while you—the Sultan's favorite, the most beautiful woman in the harem—haven’t been seen with the Sultan for a while?"
The women around us go very still.
"You're not angry because you think I'm disgusting," I continue, each word landing like a stone. "You're terrified because he doesn't. You tried to make me believe I'm nothing, and he proved you wrong. Everything you're doing right now—all this desperation, all this fear—it's because you know you're losing relevance."
"Gülnar."
Mehmet's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. I didn't hear him approach, but he's there now, standing at the corridor's entrance with Rashid. His expression is ice and fury.
"Your Highness," Gülnar begins, her mask sliding back into place. "We were just—"
"Dispersing." The command leaves no room for argument. "Now."
The women scatter like leaves. Only Gülnar hesitates, eyes flashing with rage before she finally bows and retreats.
Mehmet's hand finds mine immediately. "Come."
He leads me back to his chambers in tense silence. Once inside, he rounds on me, expression a mixture of concern and frustration.
"What happened?" he demands. "What was Gülnar doing?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," I say. I won that confrontation, even if my hands shake now with delayed reaction.
"Leyla—"
"I don't want to complain about harem drama." The words come out firmer than I intend. "I don't want to start games I don't know how to play. I handled it."
He studies me for a long moment, something that might be pride flickering in his eyes. "If she threatens you again—"
"Then I'll handle it again." I take his hand, trying to soften the dismissal. "What did your father want?"
The deflection works. Mehmet's expression shifts to something darker. "There's corruption in one of the provinces. Someone's systematically bleeding people dry—manipulating tax records, falsifying trade agreements, pocketing the difference while making it look legitimate."
"Oh, that’s terrible. Which province is it?" I ask, the thought of men and women struggling to afford food making me nauseous.
"Diyarbekir Eyalet. There’s nothing tying it to the Pasha, so we need proof before we can end this. The Pasha there has powerful connections—"
"I've heard rumors about that place," I interrupt, mind racing. The girls in the harem, their whispered conversations about fathers struggling with unfair taxes, about businesses failing. "About how things changed after the previous Pasha died. How honest merchants can barely survive now."
Mehmet goes very still. "What exactly have you heard?"
"Fragments. Complaints from a girl whose family is suffering. Nothing concrete, but..." I meet his gaze steadily. "I could learn more. If you need proof, the harem might have it—women talk about their families. They don't think anyone important is listening."
"No." His response is immediate, absolute. "You're not going back there. Not after what just happened."
"Mehmet—"
"I won't put you in danger to gather intelligence."
"It's worth it if it helps people," I counter. "If this Pasha is hurting innocent families—I can help stop that. Let me be useful."
He cups my face with both hands. "You matter to me. That's enough."
"It's not enough for me." The admission comes raw and honest. "I've spent my whole life being decorative, being useless. Give me this. Let me prove I can be more."
"You're already more than enough," he interrupts, but I see him wavering.
"Please," I say softly. "Trust me to handle this. Trust me to be careful."
The silence stretches between us.
Finally, he nods—reluctant but accepting. "You learn what you can. But carefully. And if Gülnar or anyone threatens you, you come to me immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
He pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me. "I don't like this."
"I know," I whisper into his robes. "But I need to do it anyway."
Because for the first time in my life, I have the chance to be more than a burden. To use the pain I've survived for something meaningful.
And I won't waste it.