Chapter 44 – Whispers in the Shadows
The moment they stepped into the ballroom, grandeur cloaked them in rhythm with the music. Light cascading from gilded chandeliers danced across the frescoes above, while mirrors along the walls multiplied every detail a thousandfold. The floor, polished like marble silk, reflected the shimmering of crystal glasses and the waltzing figures cloaked in fragile elegance.
Murat, Viki, and Balibey made their way silently through the masked crowd, settling in a vantage point at the side of the hall where they could observe the scene. Murat leaned against a stone column, his eyes gliding over the guests who swayed to the music's slow pulse. Then, with a barely audible whisper that only he could hear, he murmured:
"Cafer."
A faint ripple stirred the shadowed wall nearby—as if the darkness itself had shivered. And then, from within that shade, a hushed voice emerged:
"At your service, my Sultan."
Without moving his gaze, Murat continued:
"Were you able to retrieve the guest list? Anyone of interest?"
Cafer's voice returned, barely more than a breath:
"Yes, Sultan. Thanks to Giovanni, I acquired the list. Among the guests are representatives from the Republic of Genoa, the Holy Roman Empire, France, Prussia, the Kingdom of Hungary, the Kingdom of Bohemia, and the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia..."
The more Cafer named, the deeper the line between Murat's brows grew.
And then Cafer's voice turned darker, heavier:
"And…"
A pause.
Murat repeated, quiet but firm:
"And?"
Cafer exhaled softly:
"And Eunuch İbrahim Pasha—whom you personally appointed as Governor of Rumelia."
Murat's eyes froze. Sparks of fury flickered behind his calm expression. Eunuch İbrahim Pasha… the man he had trusted with one of the Empire's most vital provinces. And now, he was here? Was there any reason, any justification, for such betrayal?
But Murat mastered his rage. This was not the time. The night was a delicate game of shadows—patience would win, not fire.
From the darkness, Cafer spoke again:
"My Sultan… these people didn't gather for a mere masquerade. Each one is here with whispered intentions. It feels like a great plan is unfolding behind the curtains—perhaps a Crusade… and the target is clear: the Ottoman Empire."
Murat closed his eyes briefly. In that moment, the cold, bloodstained pages of history flashed before him—Nicopolis, Maritsa, Varna...
Then he opened them again, his voice still soft, yet every syllable edged with steel:
"Let them come, Cafer. The more they gather, the greater our victory. What my ancestors did to the Crusaders at Nicopolis, at Maritsa, at Varna… we shall do again."
Then, he gave a short, decisive command:
"Return to the shadows and keep eyes on İbrahim Pasha and Gritti. Do not let them vanish from sight."
Without hesitation, Cafer bowed.
"As you command, my Sultan."
And his silhouette melted back into the darkness, as if the shadow was bowing to the shadow.
Murat scanned the ballroom again. Light from the candelabras reflected in the mirrors, turning the hall into a golden haze. Masked laughter floated through the air, carried by the music and candlelight.
At that moment, a woman emerged from the far end of the hall. Her gait was graceful, familiar. And then a voice:
"Murat Bey, fate brings us together once again."
Murat turned toward her. The small beauty mark beneath her left jaw left no doubt.
"Lady Mariam ,Good evening," he replied gently, a polite smile curving his lips. "Indeed… fate's paths are curious."
Mariam dipped her head slightly. "I didn't think you'd recognize me beneath the mask."
"And yet I did. I recognized you not by what you wore, but by how you moved," Murat said with a soft grin. "As for how I knew… well, that's my secret."
Their conversation held quiet meaning beneath its polite surface. Meanwhile, the music shifted—the orchestra had begun a waltz. Men started moving toward women, hands extended.
Murat noticed his gaze locked with Mariam's. She returned it, her eyes holding an unspoken invitation.
Murat took a silent breath.
"Would you do me the honor of this dance, Lady Mariam?"
Mariam's lips curved into a graceful smile.
"With pleasure."
She extended her hand. Murat accepted it with the elegance of a gentleman, and together they drifted into the heart of the ballroom.
Under the crystal chandeliers, upon the checkered marble floor, they began to waltz. Her dress flowed like water with every step; his poise commanded attention. The entire room took notice.
From afar, Viki's gaze lingered on them. Her eyes followed Mariam's hand in Murat's, her smile faint and proud—but when she turned to Balibey, he wasn't watching. He was scanning the crowd. Alert. Detached.
Viki looked away, a pang of disappointment in her chest.
The music ended. Murat and Mariam stepped aside.
"Thank you for the lovely dance," Mariam said with a polite nod.
"The pleasure was mine," Murat replied.
She hesitated for a moment, then met his eyes.
"I hope fate will bring us together again…"
Then she dipped slightly. "I should return to my father."
Murat watched her go. A quiet thought crossed his mind:
"It won't be easy, Mariam. Seeing you again… it won't be easy."
Returning to Balibey and Viki's side, Murat resumed watching the masked crowd. Laughter, music, and concealed whispers drifted through the air.
Then, a shadow stirred.
"My Sultan…" Cafer's whisper floated once again.
Without turning, Murat replied:
"Speak, Cafer."
Cafer's voice was cautious, deliberate:
"They're moving. The foreign representatives are heading upstairs to the private chamber. The meeting is about to begin…"
Murat's eyes locked on the staircase, where masked figures ascended one by one.
"So the time has come…" he said, his voice firm enough to slice through the music.