"Every decision I make, I make for this empire. But she... she is the reason I fight."
Ripped from her noble Venetian life and thrown into the heart of the Ottoman Empire, Cecilia Venier-Baffo refuses to be just another captive. Armed with intellige...
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- Cecilia Venier-Baffo -
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The Hall of Pearls was a place of refinement, where young women were polished until they gleamed, their edges softened, their movements honed into something delicate and effortless. The walls were adorned with mother-of-pearl inlays, shimmering like moonlight trapped in stone. Silk cushions lined the marble floors, and the scent of rosewater lingered in the air. But beneath the beauty, I could feel the weight of something heavier—expectation, control, silent battles fought in the stillness of lowered gazes.
The concubines gathered in neat rows, their postures stiff with forced elegance. The etiquette instructor, a sharp-eyed woman named Madame Fidan, watched over us like a hawk, waiting for the slightest misstep. Today's lesson was simple yet revealing: how to walk with grace, how to serve tea without spilling a drop, how to exist in a world where silence spoke louder than words.
I observed first, my eyes scanning the room as the other girls stepped forward, one by one. Some were too nervous, their hands shaking as they poured tea into the delicate porcelain cups. Others were too eager to please, bowing their heads too quickly, their submissiveness bordering on desperation. I noted every mistake, every hesitation, and every moment that earned a nod of approval from our instructors. Power here did not belong to the loudest, but to the most controlled.
When my turn came, I moved carefully. I did not rush, nor did I hesitate. My hands were steady as I lifted the silver teapot, the scent of jasmine rising with the steam. I poured in a single, graceful motion—elegant, measured, deliberate. My back was straight, my chin poised, my demeanor respectful—but not meek. And at just the right moment, I lowered my gaze. Not too quickly, not too slowly. Just enough to make them believe I was humble.
As I walked across the room, I could hear the whispers of the other concubines, their taunts and jibes carried on the wind. "Look at her, thinking she's so much better than us," one of them sneered.
"She'll fall, just you wait," another concubine chimed in. But I ignored them, my gaze fixed on the floor ahead.
Madame Fidan's eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to the whispering concubines before returning to me. A small, approving smile played on her lips. She liked that I had ignored the taunts, that I had not risen to the bait.
A shift in the air. A presence I had not noticed before. I did not look up, but I felt it. The weight of an unseen gaze pressing against my skin. Somewhere above, behind the silk-draped balcony, someone was watching. Beyond the murmurs of the concubines and the quiet clicks of porcelain against metal trays, there was a hush in the room. A tension that only a select few could sense.
I did not yet know who it was, but I recognized the game being played. I was being studied.
Above, hidden behind embroidered veils, Hürrem Sultan watched. She stood in silence, a ghost of a smile on her lips. By her side, Sümbül Ağa, his arms crossed over his chest, whispered something to her. I watched, my gaze fixed on their lips, as they moved in silent conversation. It was a skill I had honed over the years, one that had served me well in the intrigue-ridden courts of Venice. I could read their lips, make out the words they spoke. And what I saw made my heart skip a beat.
"...dangerous," Sümbül Ağa's lips moved, his voice barely audible. Hürrem's gaze flicked to me, her eyes narrowing. "Clever," her lips replied, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized they were talking about me.
Madame Fidan stepped forward, her gaze assessing. Then, without a word, she lifted an ornate glass goblet, its surface so fine that a single mistake could shatter it. It was filled to the brim with water. She held it out to me. "Walk across the room," she instructed. "Spill even a single drop, and you will repeat the exercise until you learn control."
It was a deliberate test. A challenge.
The floor beneath my feet was uneven, the weight of the goblet deceptively heavy. The other girls snickered behind their hands, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They wanted to see me fail. I could feel their hunger for it.
But I had walked the polished halls of Venetian courts, where missteps meant disgrace. I had danced through political traps far more dangerous than a glass of water. This? This was nothing.
I inhaled slowly, let my body move as if the goblet weighed nothing at all. Not a single drop spilled. The room was silent. When I reached Madame Fidan, I bowed slightly and extended the goblet toward her, my hands as steady as they were when I began.
Madame Fidan's eyes narrowed, her gaze assessing. Then, a small, approving smile played on her lips. "Well done," she said, her voice firm but pleased. "You have shown great control and poise. The rest of you would do well to follow her example."
The other instructors nodded in agreement, their faces stern but impressed. The room fell silent, the other concubines watching me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. But as Madame Fidan's words sank in, they seemed to realize that they had been outdone. Their whispers and glances ceased, replaced by a sullen silence.
As I stood there, I caught sight of Hürrem Sultan standing in full view, her emerald gaze locked onto mine. I slightly bowed my head to her, a subtle gesture of respect, as if asking, "How did you like this?" Hürrem's smile deepened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She nodded her head at me, a small, approving gesture. Her gaze was assessing, calculating, as if weighing my potential.
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that I had caught her attention. I didn't know what it meant, or what she had planned for me, but I knew that the game had officially begun. Hürrem Sultan was watching me, preparing me for something, but I had no idea what.
As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of Safiye, her eyes flashing with resentment. She was one of the concubines who had whispered taunts earlier, her jealousy simmering just below the surface. I knew that I had made an enemy, but I also knew that I had taken a crucial step toward my ultimate goal: to rise through the ranks of the palace and claim my rightful place among the powerful women who ruled from behind the throne.
The other concubines watched me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, their whispers and glances following me as I left the Hall of Pearls. But I did not let their petty jealousies bother me. I had a bigger prey in my sights, and I was determined to catch it.
