Nalan's once revealing tunic was replaced with the traditional Ottoman eastern tribe's clothing for women with conservative cuts and nature-filled embroidery as if they were one with nature. Her well-sought face was perfectly covered with silk, but her eyes were eyeing every person who walked past the Kura's store which she was visiting for a good amount of days already.
Nalan could not help herself but clenched her fists upon remembering the face of her brother, Orhan. "Where are you, mysterious hanim?" She muttered to herself. A sea of busy Turks walked along the crowded Constantinople, Ottoman's capital city. Her whisper was buried by the merry chatter around her.
Two days passed by like a blink of an eye since she met the girl who gave her the Oakleaf Hydrangea and the first thing she could picture out was the hanim's peculiar set of eyes, a combination of sapphire and gold. The emotion she felt when she met the hanim's eyes was a mixture of awe and intrigue it was as if the eyes held a centuries-worth of knowledge – like the moment when the young hanim gave her the cure.
At that time, Nalan was dubious about the flower. But two days ago, she was pushed into a corner with high walls where anything could be considered a scapegoat for a cornered rat like her. Whether the flower was medicine or not, the fact that her brother was dying was unchangeable, and so she tested fate.
FLASHBACK...
The heavy breathing of Orhan while being soaked with sweat lessened. Seeing the drastic change after the days of breathing hard, Nalan knocked on the chair she was sitting on. She reached her hand onto Orhan's forehead, feeling his temperature. The loud thud of the chair was accompanied by the booming beat of her heart, Nalan's tears fell from her eyes as she met the unfocused ones of her brother.
"O-Orhan!" Her merry scream interrupted the men guarding his brother's chambers, startling both Orhan and the man waiting for the dreaded news who was just standing outside the door.
The wooden door suddenly opened. A man in his mid-twenties entered the small room. Though young, his stance exudes his domineering and dangerous aura. "What happened to Orhan, Nalan?" His frantic voice was laced with melancholy as if he was only expecting a piece of grave news within the room.
Nalan, who was called turned her head towards the young man. "Muzaffer, Orhan is. Orhan is – " Nalan's stuttering was cut off when Muzaffer closed the distance between the bed and him.
"Hello, leader." A faint smile erupted from the weakened state of Orhan, Mushtasem Assassin Group's vice leader. Though pale, the growing clarity from his face which was once plagued with uncertainty between life and death was doing good – proving the effectivity of the Oakleaf Hydrangea.
"...finally awake," Nalan continued.
A strangled laugh from Muzaffer, Mushtassem Assassin Group's leader, resonated inside the room. His laugh was soon followed by a gleeful chuckle from Nalan who was crying with joy as she thanked the mysterious hanim in her mind.
Thank you. I will surely pay my eternal debt to you.
END OF FLASHBACK...
"Nalan Kevser, how is your brother?" The familiar voice snapped Nalan from her little trip from memory lane.
A gasp escape from her lips when she turned her head and was met by a pair of odd eyes under the cover of a hood.
1 YEAR LATER...
At the age of fifteen years old, Kosem Fahrettin left the capital city of the Ottoman Empire, Constantinople, with her chosen retainers and vassals – Macit Guray, Torah, and Arslan Tolga. The night that Kosem fastened her resolve to be the sultan, an enemy to the eighteen-year-old sultan at that time, she was immediately prepared by her benefactor and her greatest enemy, Grand Vizier Esad Fahrettin.
The refusal of the Fahrettin Household was something that Sultan Suleiman's faction did not anticipate after knowing the goal and greed of the Grand Vizier. Sultan Hazyen Suleiman's adviser, Muhammet Bey, found it quite suspicious that he sent spies around the Grand Vizier's mansion. And their suspicions were answered when they found out about the young heir of the Grand Vizier's activities.
Swordsmanship. Tactical training. Political lessons. Hand-in-hand combat lessons. None of those was a lesson to be taken for someone who would become a sultan's bride – it was a lesson to be taken for an heir that was supposed to succeed in something big, something that would command a militia.
And now, riding atop her white-colored warhorse, Kosem Fahrettin returned to the capital city to her first title at the age of sixteen years old.
Taga. The title of a tribe leader that was in charge of a Timar also known as an estate given by Sultan Hazeyn Suleiman himself after proving herself worthy.
"Announcing the arrival of Taga Kosem Fahrettin of the southern tribe of Basra!"
The trumpets and drums resounded along the merry street of Constantinople, the capital city of the Ottoman Empire. Flowers fell from the second-floor windows as the people welcomed the girl who was riding the warhorse at the very front of the parade. Clad in her warrior clothing which was no more different than her Janissaries aside from her red cape, Kosem led her people inside the buzzing place where the real battles begin.
Hazeyn, I will finally meet you. Not as Kosem, your future bride, but as Taga Kosem, your new rival. Kosem thought, her azure and golden eyes gleaming under the heat of the sunlight.
"Welcome back Taga Kosem Fehrattin!"
"Glory to the new Taga of the Basara Fief!"