"In the palace, every step is a wager. And every whisper could be the beginning of death."
---
Dawn crept slowly over the horizon, dripping onto the golden domes of Topkapi Palace like molten honey, casting a warm glow that shimmered in the early light. From the wide window of her chamber, Lara stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the towering minarets and the royal banners swaying softly.
It was beautiful, yet something in her gut whispered that this entire palace was nothing but a grand stage… and every player upon it was merely waiting for their cue to kill.
She had awoken long before the sun rose, her breath uneven. The remnants of last night's dream still clung to her—vivid, suffocating. A black stallion, fierce and unbroken, tore across a storm of sand. Its rider was clad in pitch-black, eyes cutting through the swirling dust. When those eyes locked with hers, Lara's chest tightened, as if invisible fingers had seized her heart. She knew those eyes. Somehow… she knew them. Yet she was certain she had never seen that face in this world.
A soft knock at the door shattered her thoughts.
"Elif," she called gently.
Her loyal maid entered, carrying a silver tray laden with warm wholegrain bread, goat cheese, slices of ripe pomegranate, and honey gleaming in a crystal bowl. The air was laced with sweet richness and spice. Lara's stomach turned.
"Good morning, Princess," Elif greeted with a respectful bow. "Today, the royal council meets after the first hour. Sultan Alim has summoned all members of the royal family."
Lara's gaze sharpened. "Why must I attend?"
"You are royal blood, Your Highness," Elif replied carefully. "And… many wish to see you."
The words slid into her chest like a slow-bladed dagger. She was not royal blood. She didn't even know why she was here—in the body of Princess Zara, a woman she had never met in the waking world.
She allowed Elif to dress her: an ivory silk robe embroidered in gold tulip motifs along the cuffs, a slender sapphire-studded belt at her waist, and a crescent-shaped hairpin to hold her coiffure. In the mirror, the image staring back at her was flawless—every inch the princess. But her eyes—Lara's eyes—still reflected a fear no powder or jewel could conceal.
"Elif," she murmured to the reflection, "in this place… is there anyone who can truly be trusted?"
Elif hesitated. "I dare not say, Your Highness. But I do know this… in the palace, loyalty can be bought. And the price is often paid in blood."
Lara did not ask further.
The journey to the council chamber began. The corridors stretched endlessly, the plush red carpet softening her steps though faint echoes still followed her. Marble pillars stood like eternal sentinels, their polished surfaces catching the glow of oil lamps that still burned despite the creeping daylight. The air carried a faint trace of incense… and the metallic tang of the guards' weapons.
Every servant they passed bowed, yet Lara felt the weight of their fleeting glances—quick, assessing, as though measuring every thread of her attire, every movement of her hands. She felt like a living exhibit silently judged.
The farther she walked, the colder the air grew, though shafts of sunlight spilled through the tall arched windows. The shadows cast by the pillars seemed to dance along the walls—long, narrow, and spear-like, as if poised to strike.
At a silent intersection, her steps slowed without thinking. Something about this place was wrong—the stillness was too complete, as if every sound had been swallowed whole.
Then it happened.
A voice. Close. So close she could feel the breath against the shell of her ear.
"Trust no one, Princess."
Lara froze, her breath catching. She spun, scanning every corner of the corridor.
Empty.
No shifting shadows. No retreating footsteps. Only marble pillars, the red carpet, and air that now felt heavier in her lungs.
Her throat was dry. The voice had been real—she was certain. Yet its tone… its tone had been like a final warning.
She drew in a deep breath, forcing the fear back into her bones. No matter what, she had to walk into that council chamber. To refuse would only make her appear more suspicious.
And in this palace, suspicion was the first step toward execution.
---
The great doors of the council chamber loomed before her, carved from aged teak and etched with swirling golden calligraphy. Two guards stood rigid at either side, their armor catching the sun that spilled through stained glass. Their spears remained still, but their sharp eyes swept her from head to toe—as if weighing whether she was worthy to cross the threshold.
Lara swallowed hard. In that brief moment, she felt her entire body tense. Her hands ached to hold onto something—anything—to convince herself she was not utterly alone. But all she had was fragile courage and a heart beating far too fast.
"Princess Zara," one guard bowed, then pushed the door open with measured strength. The hinges groaned softly, like the breath of someone suppressing anger.
The moment the doors parted, a wave of mingled scents enveloped her—the heady perfume of agarwood incense curling from the corners, the faint tang of ink from open scrolls on the table, and, just beneath it, the metallic whisper of hidden blades carried by some of the nobles.
The council chamber was oval-shaped, with a long table encircling the center, the polished marble floor glimmering like still water. Tall, velvet-upholstered chairs ringed the table, each occupied by men and women clad in finery, their faces adorned with jewels or the insignia of rank.
And at the far end, upon a seat higher than all others, sat Sultan Alim.
She had seen him from a distance before—at celebrations, from a balcony during parades. But now, only a handful of steps separated them. His face was austere, jawline cut sharp, eyes black as obsidian with no hint of softness. That gaze was like a blade—cold, keen, and ready to cut.
"Princess Zara," Sultan Alim's voice was deep and heavy, resonating through the chamber. "You have finally joined us."
Every head turned toward her, their stares like spears hurled all at once. Some smiled faintly, others examined her as though she were an antique to be appraised, and some looked at her with open disdain.
Lara lowered her head slightly, steadying her breath before speaking. "I… did not wish to intrude, Your Majesty."
A few nobles exchanged glances, as though her words were far too plain for a princess raised in the palace.
"Sit," the Sultan ordered.
Her seat was on the left side of the table, between Prince Kadir and an elderly man with a white beard clad in deep blue robes. Prince Kadir—he needed no introduction. His gaze was sharp, his lips curved in a smile that was anything but warm.
The moment she sat, the meeting commenced. A court adviser began reading a report about unrest on the eastern borders caused by attacks from armed factions. There were also murmurs that certain provincial governors had begun questioning the heavy taxation policies.
"And," the adviser's voice dropped slightly, "the matter of succession has resurfaced. Some demand clarity… as to who will inherit the throne."
The room, once full of quiet murmurs, fell utterly silent. All eyes shifted to Sultan Alim—then, some slid… to Lara.
She felt her blood turn cold. Why are they looking at me?
Prince Kadir leaned in, his voice low but clear enough for her to hear. "Princess, what is your view on succession? Surely, a princess raised in the palace has… wise opinions."
Lara knew it was a trap. The real Zara might have had a perfectly calculated answer, shaped by years of navigating palace politics. But she? She was a woman from another world, trapped in this body.
"I believe… the one most capable of protecting the people should lead," she replied cautiously.
Several brows arched. Prince Kadir smiled, though his eyes hardened. "A lovely sentiment. Unfortunately, in the real world, capability is rarely the deciding factor."
A ripple of cold, mocking laughter rolled across the table. Beneath it, Lara clenched her hands on her knees, forcing herself not to let her anger show.
The meeting continued, shifting to matters of diplomacy with neighboring kingdoms. This time, a noblewoman across from her—Lady Nafisa Hatun—spoke. "Princess Zara, was it not recently that you visited the northern border and met its governor? How are they faring?"
Lara's breath caught. She had never been to the northern border. That was a memory belonging to the real Zara.
For a heartbeat, she felt the weight of every gaze pressing down on her again. Nafisa Hatun's faint smile was poised, as if she were waiting for Lara to trip over her own words.
"They face… many challenges," Lara answered at last, keeping her tone neutral. "But the people there are strong, and they need a leader who will listen to their voices."
An awkward pause followed before Nafisa Hatun inclined her head slightly. But Lara knew the woman was far from satisfied.
At the head of the table, Sultan Alim drummed his fingers against the polished wood, signaling the discussion on the borders was over. "Enough. We will reconvene tomorrow. You are all dismissed."
As the nobles rose, Lara felt Prince Kadir's gaze hook into her back like claws. Nafisa Hatun passed in front of her, leaning in just enough to whisper, "Be careful, Princess. Here… a smile can be more poisonous than the poison itself."
Lara said nothing. But in her chest, the tension coiled tighter.
She knew… the game had only just begun.
---
Lara's footsteps echoed through the back corridor of the palace—a passage she rarely took. Usually, this route was reserved for servants or guards carrying secret messages. The air here was colder, and the light filtering through the narrow windows felt pale and muted, as if the sun itself was reluctant to peek inside.
She hadn't meant to come this way. After leaving the council chamber, she only wanted fresh air, to escape the gaze of Prince Kadir and Nafisa Hatun. But somehow, her feet had carried her here… as though drawn by an invisible magnet.
When she turned a corner, she heard it.
Voices. Low. Sharp. And unmistakably meant to be hidden.
She held her breath, pressing her back against the wall. From the gap in the thick curtain covering a wooden door, the voices leaked out.
"…The Sultan is weakening. Our time is almost here."
"Don't be reckless. All eyes are still watching. Especially the girl."
"Princess Zara?"
"Yes. She… has changed. No longer the way she used to be. I sense a secret inside her."
Lara's blood seemed to freeze.
They're talking about me.
"We can't let her interfere. Once the coup begins, she must be silenced—permanently."
Her heart pounded against her ribs like war drums.
"Silenced?" The first voice gave a low, humorless laugh. "We could make her disappear even before that. But we must be careful… the Sultan still… cares for her."
"Cares for her, or watches her?"
A pause. Then—footsteps approaching the door.
Lara quickly stepped back, retreating into the shadow of a pillar. The curtain shifted slightly, but no one emerged.
She decided to leave before they truly stepped out and saw her.
But as she turned, she almost collided with someone.
Prince Kadir.
He stood far too close, his dark eyes studying her face.
"Princess… this passage is not usually meant for royal guests. What are you doing here?"
Lara's mind raced.
"I… got lost."
Kadir's smile was thin, dangerous.
"Getting lost is a… deadly thing in this palace."
He stepped forward, and she instinctively stepped back.
"You know, Princess… some secrets are better left unheard. And some truths… are better left unknown."
Then he brushed past her, heading toward the curtained door.
Lara held her breath. If she left now, she would be leaving Prince Kadir alone with the people behind that door. But if she stayed, she risked being caught eavesdropping.
From the far end of the corridor, Elif appeared, her face pale with worry.
"Princess! I've been looking for you everywhere. The Sultan is calling."
Lara seized the opportunity.
"Forgive me, I must go," she said quickly, moving to walk beside Elif.
Once they were far enough away, Elif glanced at her anxiously.
"Princess… you're so pale. What happened?"
Lara shook her head, though her voice trembled.
"It's nothing. Just… the air in that corridor is too cold."
But in her heart, she knew the truth: she had just overheard part of a coup plot.
And somehow, her name was on the list of those who had to be "silenced" before it began.
She didn't know who was behind that door.
She didn't know who she could trust.
What she did know… was that time was ticking down toward something terrible.
And the first step to survival was finding out who the real enemy was.
---