In every chess match, Suleiman always loses the first piece.
It is a strategic maneuver on his part, a gambit – often sacrificing the game for victory off of the board. He can learn many things this way – if his partner grabs at low hanging fruit, how he conducts himself in victory, if this strategy is mistaken for incompetence.
Suleiman has played many people in his short lifetime – his father, his uncle, visiting dignitaries – but the person who taught him was a hareem girl: Shula, beautiful and spirited as befit her name. She was a few years older than he but had clearly seen much more of life – in all its tainted glory – than the young prince had in his gilded cage.
They played chess when he was supposed to be studying military history or court etiquette, and as the pieces moved across the board she would teach him how to read people, to invite information while revealing nothing. She would give him brief glimpses of the world outside the palace so that he would know how the citizens of Constantinople judged their leader.
Unsurprisingly, he lost every game they played. He remembers his face burning, and his childish demand – obvious behind his princely air – that they find something else to do, until he was caught by one of his father's advisors and dragged away. He remembers her dancing eyes, lined provocatively with kohl, and poorly hidden smile at his petulance.
One day, when he was about 12 and she 16, Shula taught him a chess opening – the Queen's gambit – that was a common stratagem used by beginners and masters alike, "such as you and I, my prince," she said coyly, not bothering to explain which role they each filled.
He ignored her jibe and gazed deeply at the board before him, the white ivory and green beryl pieces coming to life in a way they never had before. He could see his victory form before his eyes as she moved pieces around the board, going through the maneuver several times and explaining the lines of attack.
He won that game and sat back with a satisfied sigh. To his surprise, so did she.
"I have nothing more to teach you," the girl said softly, pride and melancholy giving her voice an unusual timbre. "Will you remember these lessons after I am long gone?"
"What do you mean, Shula?" he asked, an unnamed fear making his voice sharp. "Where are you going?"
"It is nothing, Suleiman. You need not worry." She stroked his hair gently, her eyes lingering on his face. "I will see you tomorrow." She rose gracefully, as did he, and she curtsied with none of her usual irreverence. Struck by the solemnity of this gesture, he sketched a deep bow towards her.
They bid each other good night, then returned to their respective quarters. Suleiman lay awake for much of the night, thinking about his victory and the feeling of unrest from their parting.
She had spoken some truth. They did see each other the next day, as he sat in the receiving hall of Topkapi Palace and watched the Sultan trade pleasantries with the ambassador of Macedonia, offering his military support and a gift of arms, jewelry, and several of his most enchanting hareem girls.
Of course Shula was among them, veils covering her thickly braided hair and dusky skin. Of course she had known.
He wanted to shout: Who will play with me? And teach me about the world outside these walls? Why didn't you tell me?
For once, he observed the dictates of his position and remained still, his face impassive and his posture painfully straight, only his eyes betraying his anguish. To her credit, she did not look away from him, but held his gaze as long as she could until she was led away by the guards to the harbor, where a ship to Macedonia awaited her. He let the droning talk ebb and flow around him, staring at the spot she had last stood, sadness overwhelming the betrayal he felt.
As soon as he was able, he left the walls of Topkapi Palace – and the heavy hand of his father – and traveled extensively, to learn and experience as much as he could. And with every king laid down on the board, he would think of her graceful hands and clear eyes. One day, he is sure, he will find himself seated across her, a chess board between them, and he awaits the lengthy critique of his playing style and the bright laughter she is sure to bring.