Chapter 8 – The Solitude of the Throne
Topkapı Palace was wrapped in silence as the first light of dawn touched its rooftops.
Birdsong could be heard faintly from the harem side,
But near the Imperial Chamber, only footsteps echoed against marble.
Sultan Murad IV, after Gevherhan Sultan's unexpected visit that morning, had given a single command to the guards:
"Inform me the moment Kasım arrives. Send him in without delay."
Then, without a word, he retreated into the Has Oda — the Sacred Chamber.
Its walls held aged portraits of past sultans,
Shelves lined with leather-bound tomes,
And in the corner, a rack bearing ceremonial swords.
But Murad's eyes were fixed only on the item that sat at the center of his desk:
An old, ornately carved wooden box.
It was closed.
Yet his fingers gently traced the engraved patterns across its lid,
As if reading a story written in oak and dust.
Each motif carried weight —
Not just from his own past…
But from the legacy of an empire.
A sigh slipped from his chest.
Gevherhan.
His sister.
Her innocence had once lit her face.
Now it had been bartered in the politics of power.
The path to Recep Pasha had passed through one pair of hands:
Kösem.
His mother.
Murad bowed his head.
The thought that followed was heavy —
But it would not be silenced.
"What if… my mother too stands against the state?"
A shadow stirred in his mind.
The blood-inked genealogy of the dynasty flashed before him —
Fathers, brothers, sons…
Names scratched out for the sake of the throne.
For the sake of continuity.
And in that moment, a verse spilled from his lips:
"If the state has no head,
The raven will feast on the corpse…"
He paused.
His eyes glazed, but did not tremble.
His hand returned to the box.
He closed his eyes,
And with a firm but solemn voice, began to recite —
Not to anyone else,
But to himself.
"All that I have done
Has been in service to the state, the people, the faith.
If the state has no head,
The raven will feast on the corpse.
And then—
There will be no mother, no sister,
No daughters, no sons,
No brothers, no kin,
No beloved, no allies.
The nation shall vanish.
First the faith will fall,
Then the blood, the honor, the lineage.
I, who never forget I am mortal—Sultan Selim Han—
For the sake of preservation,
Abandoned the embrace of my noble father,
Struck down my own brothers,
Chose the hardship of campaign over the warmth of a lover's bed.
I sat on the throne, never resting.
Glory was not what I sought—it was what was forced upon me.
Blood was not my desire—it was what was demanded of me."
When Murad finished, he opened his eyes.
They no longer wavered.
Yes—there was solitude in them.
But solitude embraced by will.
"I too… have been compelled," he murmured.
"Then I too shall walk the path of campaign.
Not to sit on a throne—
But to keep the state standing."
Just then, footsteps approached outside his chamber.
A guard peeked in.
"My Sultan… Kasım Ağa has arrived."
Murad lifted his gaze.
He withdrew his fingers from the box's lid.
"Send him in."
And just like that,
He turned once more—
Fully—toward duty.
—
The door opened slowly.
Kasım stepped inside.
Measured steps.
Head slightly bowed.
But his spirit upright, unwavering.
Murad remained at his desk.
His fingers were now lifting the lid of the carved box.
From within,
He drew out a single object.
A ring.
Not just any adornment.
Its golden frame was etched with delicate patterns,
Its central gemstone a deep crimson —
Glowing like fire when caught by the light.
At the center of the stone was the fine, almost invisible engraving of a wolf's head.
Not a mere ornament—
But a symbol.
When Kasım stood before the Sultan,
His eyes fell on the ring.
There was curiosity—
But also hesitation.
Murad held the ring higher.
Its glint danced across the room.
Then he spoke—his voice calm, but resonant:
"Did you know, Kasım…
The first time I saw you was years ago,
At a dergah in the hills of Eyüp,
With my late father."
Kasım's eyes widened slightly.
Murad's tone softened—still deep, but without bitterness.
"You were a boy.
Carrying a copper pitcher.
But there was a dignity on your shoulders that dwarfed your size.
My father, Sultan Ahmed, stood beside me.
He watched you and said:
'This boy is silent.
But his heart speaks.
One day,
He shall become the firmest wall behind a Sultan.'"
Murad turned the ring in his hand.
Then extended it toward Kasım.
"That is why I chose you.
You bore no sword.
But you never trembled in the shadow of treachery.
Your voice… was loyalty.
And today, loyalty is the rarest weapon of all."
Kasım looked at the ring.
The stone pulsed—
As though alive.
He reached for it.
His hands did not tremble.
He took it,
And bowed his head.
"My Sultan…" he said, his voice full of quiet strength,
"Before this ring touched my hand, I was already yours.
But now… with soul, blood, and shadow—
I am bound to you.
I swear it.
This loyalty shall never be stained."
Murad lowered his head slightly.
A peace flickered across his face—perhaps for the first time in days.
"Then be ready.
For loyalty is tested on the hardest days."
And thus,
A ring was placed not just on a finger—
But into fate itself.
—
Kasım slid the ring onto his finger.
The blood-red gem shimmered softly.
The wolf's head seemed to stir.
But more than its glow—
It was the meaning it carried
That weighed upon him.
Murad looked at the ring in silence.
Then took a deep breath.
"This ring…" his voice turned solemn,
"Once belonged to my grandfather, Sultan Süleyman Han."
Kasım's eyes returned to the ring.
His touch grew gentler.
Now he understood:
This was not treasure.
It was legacy.
Murad continued:
"It is no ordinary seal.
This stone has a property…
When worn, the bearer cannot hear falsehood."
Kasım furrowed his brow.
Trying to comprehend.
Murad leaned slightly closer.
His voice lowered to a whisper:
"When someone lies…
Your ears will not hear the words.
They will distort—
Like the buzzing of flies.
Like a static that blocks the air.
The truth can be heard.
Lies only echo."
He looked once more at the gem.
"This ring protects you from deceit.
But be warned…
Sometimes, silence is the loudest burden."
Kasım now viewed the ring with new eyes.
This was not just a token of trust—
It was a scale between truth and falsehood.
And now,
It was his burden to bear.
He bowed deeply.
"My Sultan…
Any voice that lies to you
Will fall silent in my ears.
But I—
I will always carry the voice of truth to you."
Murad stared at him.
For a moment,
Nothing but stillness.
Then—
"Then the ring has found its rightful bearer."
—
The ring glimmered.
But the true gleam
Was in Murad's eyes.
He turned slowly,
Closing the lid of the box on his desk.
When he spoke again,
His voice carried a different tone.
More personal.
More resolved.
"I could have worn this ring myself."
"But when I face my enemies,
I need every sense at my side.
Every instinct alert.
This ring protects—
But it also silences.
And I… cannot afford that."
"You, Kasım…
You do not speak.
You listen.
You watch.
You walk with shadow.
And most of all…
Your loyalty remains pure."
Murad stepped toward the window.
Sunlight now bathed the city—
But the dungeons of Yedikule remained in shadow.
He turned back.
His final words were heavy.
"Come.
Topal awaits us."
And with that,
Sultan Murad IV stepped out of the chamber with Kasım at his side.
Ahead of them—
A reckoning in the dark.
But now,
The truth was bound to the right hand.
And its silence—
Would echo louder than any cry.