Now she would become sultana.
Not because of her beauty. Not because of wealth. Not because of bloodline. But because a man with a broken heart found in her the strength to heal. And because she found in him what she had thought lost forever: home.
Three months later, Topkapi Palace had never seen such a celebration. Thousands of candles lit every corner, turning night into day. Garlands of roses and jasmine hung from the arches, filling the air with sweetness.
Musicians played melodies of enduring love, and dancers spun like petals in the wind. All of Istanbul celebrated. The sultan was marrying. In the bride’s chambers, Azra stood before a silver mirror.
She barely recognized the woman looking back at her. Her gown was red silk, the color of good fortune, embroidered in gold thread that formed flowers and stars. A sheer veil scattered with tiny pearls fell from a diamond tiara to the floor.
Her eyes were lined with kohl, her lips tinted carmine, her hands decorated with intricate henna patterns. She looked like a queen from legend. But when she looked at herself, she still saw the girl who had once peeled pomegranates in the kitchen.
“Are you ready?” a voice asked behind her. Azra turned and smiled when she saw Fatma. The older servant had become her closest friend.
“Do you think anyone is ever ready for this?” Azra asked. Fatma came over and took her hands. “Listen to me, child.”
“I’ve lived in this palace for forty years. I’ve seen sultanas arrive with everything—beauty, wealth, family name. And I’ve watched power corrupt them, watched ambition destroy them.”
“But you are different.” The old woman’s eyes shone with emotion. “You came here with nothing but your heart, and with that you won over the most unreachable man in the empire.”
“Not because you seduced him. Because you saw him. Because you loved him when no one else could.” A tear slid down Azra’s cheek. “Today you become sultana not because you are wearing a crown,” Fatma went on.
“You become sultana because you already possess what no crown can give—real love.” Azra hugged the old woman tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
The ceremony took place in the throne hall. The same hall where, three months earlier, Azra had stood waiting for death. Now she walked across the same marble floor, only this time it was covered in rose petals.
Noblemen bowed as she passed. Generals struck their chests in salute. The concubines who had once looked down on her now lowered their eyes. But Azra did not see them. She saw only him.
Sultan Selim stood waiting at the far end of the hall, dressed in white and gold. His face, usually so severe, had been transformed by something few had ever seen. A smile. A smile meant only for her.
The imam spoke the sacred words, and the vows were given. When Selim took Azra’s hand and slipped a ruby ring onto her finger—red as blood, as love, as fate—the whole hall seemed to stop breathing. “With this ring,” the sultan said, “I take you as my wife before God and before men.”
“I promise you protection, respect, and love until death parts us. I promise you that you will never be alone again.” Azra felt tears running down her face, but she did not care.
“And I,” she answered, her voice shaking but steady, “take you as my husband. I promise you loyalty, honesty, and love. I promise to be your shelter when the world is harsh, and your light when darkness closes in.”
“I promise to love you, Selim, not because you are sultan, but because you are the man who chose to feel again.” The imam declared them husband and wife. And when Selim lifted her veil and kissed her before the whole court, the hall erupted in cheers.
That night, in the bridal chambers, Selim and Azra were alone for the first time as husband and wife. The room glowed with hundreds of candles. Rose petals covered the great bed beneath its silk canopy, and incense drifted through the air like a blessing.
Selim took her face in his hands. “Do you remember when you first came into my chambers?” he asked. “I do. I was terrified, though I tried not to show it.”
“You told me that if women couldn’t stand me, maybe the problem was me.” Azra laughed softly. “I was sure you’d have me killed for that.”
“And I was sure you were the first honest person I had met in years.” Selim brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Do you know why I said those words to you?”
