The next day arrived, and the grand feast was held in Ilkay Khatun's luxurious quarters in Constantinople. A gathering like no other, filled with Isakios and the most aggressively influential female figures of the capital. The air was thick with indulgence, gossip, and the scent of freshly baked pastries. They were seated around an extravagant table, adorned with bureks, delicate pastries, and the shining jewel of Turkish cuisine: baklava. And of course, Ilkay Khatun's famous drunken yard was in full display, brimming with all sorts of Turkish delights. No feast of hers was complete without an overwhelming spread of the most decadent desserts, all perfected under her skilled eye.
You see, Ilkay Khatun wasn't just a woman of political maneuvering—she had perfected the art of cuisine. Her baklava was legendary. Back when she had spent time in Antep, she had taken control of the pistachio production in the region, transforming its use. While pistachios were traditionally reserved for savory dishes along the Italian coasts, Ilkay Khatun had done something revolutionary. She started using them to adorn desserts, especially her famous baklava. This innovation had spread across the realm, but no one did it better than Ilkay herself. The capital of Constantinople now boasted some of the best food in the entire empire—thanks, in large part, to her influence.
As they devoured the mouthwatering desserts, the conversation, as expected, turned to gossip. The women in attendance—mature, powerful, and well-connected—weren't just concerned with affairs of state. They had been involved in affairs of the heart, too. Most of them had been married, and yet, they had indulged in secret liaisons with the mighty Timurtas.
These women, now in their 30s and 40s, were not shy about recounting their experiences, and the gossip flowed as freely as the wine.
And then, Ilkay Khatun leaned forward, her voice just low enough to draw attention but loud enough to hold it. "As you know," she began, with a dramatic pause, "Wolfram has been nowhere to be found for some time now."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned toward her, hanging on her every word. Ilkay had a flair for storytelling, and when she spoke, the room listened.
"I've heard whispers," she continued, "that 1,000 Hunnic riders—just 1,000—defeated a 20,000-strong army from the Eastern European Banner. Can you imagine?" Her voice dripped with disbelief, her eyes scanning the room to ensure the full impact of her words. "They were drowned in the river, swept away by the currents. But what's more chilling are the stories we've been hearing about the rivers turning red with blood. Flooding with blood, they say."
One of the women gasped audibly, while others leaned in closer. Ilkay, enjoying their reactions, continued.
"We all know it was Kara and his men. There's no doubt about that. But here's where it gets interesting. We've heard reports of a Nordic-looking man fighting alongside them. A man who has been traveling with Kara for some time now. You know who I think it is?" She didn't wait for a response. "It's Wolfram."
The room buzzed with excitement. Wolfram, the mysterious grandson of the Holy Roman Emperor, a man who had vanished from sight, now rumored to be fighting alongside Kara and his Hunnic riders.
"So Wolfram is alive, and not only that, but he's with Kara, near the river where all this bloodshed occurred."
One of the women, her mouth half-full of baklava, whispered, "But what could he be doing there?"
Ilkay raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. "What indeed? Perhaps Wolfram has found his true calling among the Huns. Or perhaps he's there for something much bigger. Either way, ladies, Wolfram is very much alive, and it seems he's not hiding in the shadows any longer."
With that, the women resumed their chatter, their imaginations running wild with the possibilities. Ilkay Khatun sat back, satisfied that she had stirred the pot just enough to keep the gossip flowing well into the night.
They laughed, ate, and gossiped some more—each of them knowing that whatever they spoke of here would be the talk of Constantinople within days.