Chapter 3: Mahidevran's Hope and Suleiman's Ego
"Orhan you don't have to be so angry at me as there are people assigned to the palace to keep it clean. " Ibrahim Uncle tried to explain to me but I shook my head and replied, "Uncle, this palace is my home and before anyone else it is our duty to lead by example and keep the place from becoming dirty again after the maids and other servants have just done cleaning."
"Orhan, you have a unique way of looking at the world." Ibrahim Uncle was speechless with my reply but after thinking it over he also thought that it was actually true what the prince said. And Ibrahim became more curious to see How Prince Orhan would rule the Empire as the Padishah after his Lord. Although such thoughts were considered blasphemous and he could be beheaded but he was really curious to see how the empire would flourish when some who had such wisdom at such a young age ruled the empire added with his already fighting talent.
After the small episode We returned back with Ibrahim Uncle soon leaving after dropping us off at our mother's room.
...
After that day, I never expected to see my tutor again.
"Prince."
"Teacher, you are fine, right?" I asked as she took her position beside me and sat down. Infront of us was a piece of paper on which she taught me [ا, ب, پ]. I was able to control the charcoal stick in my hand but I still acted to struggle.
"I am fine prince, thanks to your grace."
"..." I did not respond as I felt bad putting all the teachings on my young teacher's shoulder.
That word—overstepped—felt like a whip across my thoughts. Even at that tender age, I understood it wasn't just about a mistake. It was about crossing an invisible line I didn't yet fully grasp. And perhaps… it had something to do with me.
I stopped asking questions after that.
From that moment on, I began limiting my actions, understanding something that many adults in my previous life never did: even if I meant no harm, my presence now came with weight. Titles carry gravity. And mine could crush those who weren't prepared to stand beneath it.
I was no longer a son of a common merchant or a quiet boy from a religious household.
I was Şehzade Orhan—the son of Sultan Suleiman and the elder brother of Prince Mustafa.
A single frown from me could cost someone their job. A careless tantrum could destroy someone's livelihood. It wasn't fair, but it was true.
So I chose to nod in silence.
Whether it was the cooks, the laundry maids, the eunuchs, or the concubines not favored by my father—I acknowledged each of them with quiet respect, as though trying to apologize with my eyes for the injustice my rank could bring.
Mother couldn't possibly control every outcome. Not here.
The Governor's Palace of Manisa housed not just my mother, but seventeen other women who had once shared a night with the man history would one day call Suleiman the Magnificent.
But me?
I didn't want to be magnificent.
I just wanted to be righteous.
1520 – The Day Before Leaving Manisa for Constantinople
I still slept on the same bed as my mother, though my younger brother Mustafa now lay between us. I didn't fight for my mother's affection—what would have been the point? With the mind of a grown man and the heart of someone who had seen another life, I viewed it all with calm detachment.
Sometimes, I wondered if this was all a dream—if I had slipped into a coma in the real world and this Ottoman dreamscape was just a figment of my imagination, fueled by some twist of fate or strange joke of the universe.
And yet, even if it was imaginary, it didn't matter.
I had chosen to live by the laws of Islam regardless. Whether this world was real or not, I knew the One who watches over us all would still be watching here too. Maybe a good report card in this world would earn me the mercy to wake up in the other.
My family must be worried. Our budget would be tight if I remained on a ventilator for too long. I imagined my real parents praying beside a hospital bed, hoping their son would return. If this truly was a dream, then I prayed my time here would at least be useful.
Mustafa stirred lightly in his sleep, his small body shifting under the blanket. Mother reached out and gently tapped him on the back, calming him. I mimicked her with my small hand, patting him softly—a habit I had carried from my past life.
It was a quiet moment of prayer, a silent space where I could whisper to the One who always listened.
"Ya Allah... I do not know why You placed me here," I thought, closing my eyes tightly. "But You are the Best of Planners. Guide me, so I do not become like the rest—not drunk on power, not blind to justice. Let me grow with dignity. Let me walk a path that pleases You, even when I cannot speak of You aloud in this place. Make me a servant who honors You, even if the world sees only a prince."
Unbeknownst to me, my mother had opened her eyes slightly, watching me through slitted lids. Her gaze lingered on my face, and a soft smile curled her lips. She had always loved her firstborn, Orhan, just a little more than Mustafa—but she never fully understood why Suleiman, who was such a gentle and wise man, did not share that sentiment.
Suleiman adored Mustafa. He would lift him into his arms with pride and walk the palace gardens while I trailed behind with the maids, trying not to show how little it affected me. I had already learned that love, when unequal, must be met with dignity.
Mother worried about this imbalance. She feared it would sow discord between the brothers, especially in the years to come. And now that we were heading to Constantinople, to a palace whose walls were literally built with the blood and sweat of Suleiman's ancestors, that worry weighed heavily on her.
She often thought about my future. I was responsible, mature, sharp—and far too observant for a boy of my age. She imagined how many hearts I would one day steal, how many eyes would linger too long when I passed. A mother's pride was hard to suppress.
But she knew that in front of Suleiman—especially now that he had become Sultan—she had to favor the son he favored. Politics had no room for maternal instincts.
Still, Orhan held a special place in her heart.
She believed I could handle Mustafa, guide him gently without jealousy. And in her quiet hopes, she imagined that if no other woman came between her and Suleiman, perhaps even he would come to see the beauty in his elder son. Maybe, just maybe, I would melt his heart in time.
Looking at me now, she could almost see the kind man I would grow into. Since birth, I had been different—soft in tone, deliberate in action, never greedy, never cruel. She believed, if fate allowed, I would become the finest Sultan, the most loyal son, a protective brother, and perhaps one day, a husband whose heart knew mercy.
But all of that was still in the future. And the future, in the Ottoman court, was always uncertain.
The sun had not yet risen when the servants came to prepare our things for the journey. I stood by the window, watching the quiet palace gardens, bathed in the dim blue of early dawn. I could hear the shuffle of silk robes, the clink of jewelry being packed, and the hushed commands of eunuchs organizing trunks and scrolls.
Mustafa was still asleep, clinging to a pillow. Mother moved about the room with practiced elegance, already adorned in a traveling robe of deep green. Her gaze met mine for a brief moment.
"You're awake early," she said softly.
"I couldn't sleep," I replied, my voice quiet, thoughtful.
She approached and brushed a hand over my hair. "Are you nervous?"
"Not for myself," I said, glancing toward my brother. "I'm thinking about him. And about you."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face, then softened into a mother's warmth. "You think too much, Orhan."
I offered a small smile. "Someone has to."
She chuckled faintly and cupped my face in her hands. "You're too wise for your age. It frightens me sometimes."
It was a simple exchange of words between a son and mother but my words held deeper meanings because even if a dream this world was temporarily the place where I'll be residing for who knows how long. I knew the dangers Mother, Mustafa, And many other of my soon to be born siblings would face but I was the only one whose future I did not know.
I didn't answer. There was nothing more to say.
Outside, the horses were being prepared. The journey to Constantinople would mark the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I didn't know what lay ahead—but I had already made my intention clear.
I would walk this path with righteousness, even if history forgot my name.