While the assassination attempt had been foiled, the fire of adventure still burned within me.In my previous life, the idea of visiting Athens had been a distant dream—something reserved for books, maps, and fleeting imagination. But now, I stood not just in Athens, but in a version of it from two centuries past.
What a strange privilege this was. A reincarnated soul walking among marble ruins still standing tall, among streets older than memory.
I turned toward my wardrobe. The regal attire I usually wore as a shehzade hung neatly on its stand—embroidered, heavy, and unmistakably Ottoman. But today is different.
I set the garments aside.
Instead, I slipped into simpler clothes. Fitted, travel-worn, the kind a trader or scholar might wear. Just enough to blend in, not enough to draw attention. A light cloak over the shoulders, a sash instead of a belt, and a small dagger tucked just within reach.
No guards. No ceremony. Just me, Athens, and the pulse of history beneath my feet.
Moments later,
Out from the governorate palace, I disguised as a servant, just finished his night shift. Walked further to the junction, than paid a coachman to the middle city.
The sun had just risen beyond Mount Hymettus, its golden rays slicing through the marble colonnades and illuminating the narrow alleyways of the eastern quarter. Markets were just beginning to stir—wooden stalls creaked open, bakers fanned their ovens, and street vendors shouted half-hearted greetings as they unpacked their wares.
I kept my pace steady, hands tucked in my cloak, eyes scanning not with suspicion—but with awe.
Athens. Not the ruinous romanticism tourists fawned over in books, but a living, breathing city. Scarred by rebellion, yes, but resilient. There were Ottoman banners, yes—but also whispers of Greek, traces of Latin, echoes of the old empire. The Parthenon loomed above, still defiant in its dignity. A mother haggled for wheat beside a bearded elder selling ink and parchment. A child darted past with olives in a cracked bowl.
No one knew me. And for a moment, that was freedom.
"Fresh figs! From Piraeus! Sweet as a pasha's dream!" a vendor bellowed.
"Watch your step, stranger," a boy warned, as he passed me carrying a crate of firewood on his back.
I offered a small nod, blending in just enough, though I noticed some eyes lingered. Maybe it was the posture, the way I walked—too upright, too focused. I made a mental note to loosen the shoulders.
Near the old Roman Agora, I stopped by a bookseller—his little wooden stand overflowing with scrolls and bound tomes, both Arabic and Greek.
"Looking for something, traveler?" the bookseller asked, squinting at me.
Odalik POV
It began like any other morning.
The tray in my hands was still warm—steamed bread, pomegranate molasses, a boiled egg, and his preferred black coffee brewed the way only we palace girls had learned to perfect. The silver pitcher rattled softly as I moved through the marble corridor, careful not to let my slippers echo too sharply.
When I reached the prince's chamber, I paused as always, adjusted my veil, and knocked lightly.
No answer.
I knocked again, this time louder. Still nothing.
I hesitated, glanced over my shoulder—then slowly pushed open the door.
The moment I stepped inside, my breath caught.
The bed was untouched. The cushions undisturbed. No cloak on the rack. The dagger that usually hung above the writing desk—gone. The coffee in the cup on the table had gone cold.
The room… was empty.
Utterly empty.
The tray slipped from my hands, the clatter of silver and porcelain shattering the stillness.
I stumbled back, heart racing, voice torn from my throat before I could even think.
"T-The Shehzade is gone!"
The words echoed down the corridor like a thunderclap.
And with that cry, the palace ignited.
Cemil POV
"So he does it again huh." I slapped my forehead. Figuratively knew about his acts. Since he has done this in the shipyard too.
Sahin arrives. "Cemil-effendim, the Shehzade.."
"I know, he done it again. But he always talked about being want to walk in Athens, maybe he did it right now." I looked at the window.
Original POV
Indeed the bookstore has its variety of choices. I paid the book, and walk back to the district. So continue to the point.
Later, I visit the coffee shop to enjoy the sip of coffee?...not gonna lie, the taste is indeed different from what I have in my homeland,
"It seems our prince here likes to rattle around eh?" I watched at the back as there is a woman with with red attire something ish.... No doubt about that..
I gasped "Impossible, how are yo..."
"Tch tch tch, here now prince, I prefer not to make this obvious" She make sign of shush.
There's no doubt on that. I knew it, the attire, the posture, she's like I always view at one of the murals in Yildiz Palace. She's Roxelana or, Hurrem Sultan itself. She's the love of Suleiman the Magnificent and many feats achieved by her. Technically, she was considered genius too. Which is why many intrigues lurks around her.
"Hurrem Sultan, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
She smiled, "Selim, it seems you attempt to make changes from within, and as of now, they quite afraid of you."
"Yeah, exactly. I honestly didn't expect this either—especially since they don't even know that, decades from now, the Ottomans will lose their fangs. I don't want that to happen. But if I were to compare myself to Hurrem Sultan… what could I possibly match you with? You were once a slave, now a free woman, and you ran so much of the administration behind the scenes."
"So what if I was a former slave? You—before I pour this coffee down your throat—you'd better shut up."
"Alright, alright, I'll shut up. Back to the point."
She sat and took a sip of coffee—even though I was certain she hadn't ordered it."Oh dear, Selim. You lack tenacity. You should bend your people to your will. Remember—though you're only eleven, the fire inside you is like the spark of the great Urban cannon during Mehmed's conquest of Constantinople… small at first, but growing into a force that can shatter walls and devour empires."
I thought for a moment. "You're right about that, but—"
"No buts. Just do it first." She slapped me on the back.
"But—"
Hurrem regained her composure. "You said it yourself—you need allies. You already have Aydin, your newly appointed naval officer, Cemil, Şahin, and the newcomer, Ahmet. Your plan is good… but—"
"And that's it. My time's up." Roxelana smiled.
"Ah, you're cutting me off now?" I said, confused.
"Just follow your heart, Selim. You already know." Hurrem patted me on the back.
Her hand lingered for a brief moment, warmer than I expected. Her eyes, sharp yet softened with something almost maternal, locked onto mine.
"Remember my dear, the history will not remember you for what you inherit, Selim… but for what you dare to change. Do not fear their whispers. Make them fear of your silence."
Before I could respond, the air around her seemed to shimmer—like heat over stone in summer. And then, she was gone. The red of her robes dissolved into the air, leaving only the faint scent of rosewater and strong coffee.
I sat there for a long while, unsure if I had just met a ghost… or if ghosts even mattered anymore.
~~
As I just returned to the castle, both of them celebrated me with a stress face.
"My shehzade, welcome back, so how's the 'trip'?"
"Well lets just say, i just had an epiphany."
Cemil and Sahin looked at each other.
"Nevermind guys, i think we can continue on how to handle this assasinations."