Haseki.
The favored.
That is what they are compelled to call me. All of them. Eyes cast downward in reverence. Do not aspire to this, I want to warn the young ones. The ones whose rosy lips and cheeks have yet to be introduced to Pasha. But I do not say this. I say little, choosing my words wisely.
This is how you survive.
Study.
Rise through the ranks.
Become irreplaceable.
Become the chosen one.
Find your power. Use it, but softly.
Haseki.
Pasha conferred this once-ancient title upon me, to fashion me after Süleyman’s most beloved and trusted haseki. It is an honor, he told me. A gift.
In that moment, my name was erased, buried under dirt.
But my spirit was not.