With the orders declared and the strategy in motion, the grand council disbanded. Viziers, scribes, and ministers filed out of the Divanhane in murmuring clusters, their silk robes whispering along the marble floor. The air still hung heavy with the weight of decisions made—each word from the Sultan, each subtle glance exchanged, another stroke on the empire's fragile canvas.
~~~
"This boy… he's too bold." Grand Vizier Moldovancı Ali Pasha stormed through the palace corridors, his steps sharp and quick. His aides trailed behind him, silent as shadows. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind—not least of which was a growing fear: if the boy was already playing with fire, how long until the whole court burned? He reached his office and slammed the door behind him. For now, he would watch.
~~~
The cool evening breeze drifted across the palace gardens, rustling the hedges and shaking loose a handful of autumn leaves. Lanterns swayed softly overhead, casting a golden shimmer across the polished stones.
I moved swiftly, one hand clasped behind my back, steps crisp as I made for the inner court. I had to relay orders to Cemil and Şahin since they are my 'advisors' as of now, and of course, I need both of their help to make things easier in Edirne.
I rounded a corner—and sensed it. A presence.
As usual, its unfamiliar one, and I felt it. Quickly, I shifted weight, already pivoting, the hilt of my blade within reach.
"Woah, woah—easy, young Şehzade. It's me."
François Baron de Tott emerged from the shadowed path, hands raised in mock surrender, his grin touched with admiration. His French accent still held the crispness of court education, but his manner was that of a man who had seen battlefields, not just ballrooms.
"You've got sharper instincts than most generals I know," he added with a chuckle. "It impresses me. Not many princes would flinch like a soldier."
I offered a curt nod. "Evening, Baron."
He bowed. "May I?"
I gestured toward the nearest bench beneath the olive trees. "Please."
We sat, the silence between us not awkward, but coiled—like a drawn bowstring waiting for release.
"I must confess," he began, eyes scanning the gardens as if reading their shape like a map. "When I accepted the post here, I expected decadence. Dusty records. Old men clinging to past glories. What I did not expect... was you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
De Tott laughed lightly. "A boy of ten with the gaze of a seasoned strategist. Who maneuvers fleets without lifting a blade. Who sits in war councils like a hawk eyeing the tide."
"I observe," I replied calmly.
"You plan," he corrected. "Crete, Taganrog, Edirne… You don't move like a student. You move like a tactician. Someone with vision."
His tone was not accusatory. But not benign either.
"You flatter me, Baron. Perhaps too much. Flattery will get you nowhere, Monsieur Francois."
"I rarely flatter. Especially not princes." He folded his arms. "In France, those who think too far ahead either end up with a crown… or a blade at their throat. And usually, it's the latter."
I shrugged. "Then perhaps I'm fortunate to be Ottoman."
He studied me, silence falling again. Then his gaze sharpened.
"I noticed the drills in Edirne," he said, voice lowering. "The line spacing. From how you operating the muskets. That's not Janissary tradition. That's not any tradition I've seen. Even the Prussians are still in its infancy."
I met his gaze but said nothing.
"And those muskets," he continued, "grooved barrels. Rifling. Expensive, yes it woulf be since, its not famous yet—but effective. Stable. Accurate."
"Do you disapprove?"
"No." His eyes glinted beneath the lantern light. "I admire it. Deeply. But admiration is not the same as trust."
The weight behind those words was unmistakable.
"And what troubles you, Baron?"
"You are young. Brilliant—but young. And those who burn the brightest often die the fastest." He said it not as a threat, but a warning. "The court is full of men who fear fire. And you, Şehzade, are already setting the kindling."
I didn't blink. "Then they should follow me into flame—or step aside."
He stared. Then smiled faintly. "That was a general's answer."
"And yet I am still a prince."
A brief wind stirred the trees. A lantern flickered overhead.
"I am not your enemy, Şehzade," he said at last. "France gains nothing from seeing this empire fall. In truth, I want it to survive. And I want you to survive with it. But if you are planning something greater—something even your father doesn't see—I advise caution."
He rose, brushing off his coat, and gave a final bow.
"Power is not only intellect and timing—it's patience. Many eyes are watching you. Some with hope. Others with daggers."
His boots clicked softly as he turned and disappeared into the nighted archways of the garden.
I remained where I was, hands once again clasped behind my back, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"I'm expecting more from you, young shehzade. And goodluck on your mission." He left.
De Tott was clever.
But not clever enough to see the full shape of what was coming.
Not yet, or did he? Those answer, will keep lingering in my concious-ness.