CHAPTER 4

A/N – Hello my dear readers and HAPPY NEW YEAR! What can I say, since it's still January I guess I won't be trolling you with useless rants and meaningless author notes straight away, I'll save that for later in the year :)))) (damn, why can't I ever take this seriously?) So, for today, just enjoy the new chap and give me your thoughts ;)

Sadiq arched his torso on one side, then on the other, stretching the tense and slightly aching muscles while the servant poured hot water down his back. The baths were really quiet at this late hour and he preferred it that way. During the day, the courtiers used the baths (as well as any corner of the palace they would find themselves in) to discuss yet more politics and court gossip and especially as of late the constant murmurs he was hearing all over the place made the prince wary and tense, not allowing him to relax one bit. As much as he tried to keep his mind off it, he knew what they were all talking about, with various degrees of worry or, on the contrary, excitement. He knew that the day would come soon enough – maybe even sooner than they all thought it would – the day the noose would tighten around his neck.

Still, despite the hidden tension, a small smile made his way onto his lips as he heard the sound of footsteps and noticed Alin coming towards him. The boy stopped in front of him, arms crossed over the towel he'd wrapped tightly around his body. As usual, he was making no effort to smile or otherwise be pleasing and Sadiq appreciated that, finding it rather endearing how the younger's feelings always showed on his face. Sure, he hoped the boy would grow out of it soon enough, because it made him way too vulnerable for the cruel game of politics they were all being forced to play.

"You wanted to see me, efendim?" the Wallachian asked bluntly.

Sadiq nodded, still smiling, and patted the place next to him on the marble bench before motioning for the servant to leave. "How are you?" he asked when the other sat down gingerly and not too close. "How's your shoulder?"

"It still hurts when I move, but I'm fine," Alin huffed in annoyance, staring awkwardly into his own lap. "I would have taken a worse wound though if I were to-… not lose the fight," he added.

"So that's why you're sulking," the prince concluded amused. "It must have been a dreadful blow to your knightly pride."

The boy continued to keep his head bowed, sadness written all over his childish face as he sighed. "Everyone says I'm just a weakling, especially Murat Bey," he explained, biting his lip with a grimace. "And just now he nearly tried to rip my clothes off! What the hell is his problem?! I swear he needs a wife to throw three slippers at his head…" he grumbled under his breath.

The Turk burst into unrestrained laughter at this – it must have been the funniest thing he'd heard in a long time. "Is that what Wallachian wives do?" he asked, standing up and grabbing the copper bowl.

"It's not funny!"

"Oh, I agree," Sadiq still chuckled. "Come here and turn around," he motioned before turning to fill up the bowl with hot water.

"What?!" Alin's eyes widened, guessing the prince's intention. "No, I can-"

But Sadiq only grinned and pushed his shoulder down, making him sit still. He carefully poured the water and proceeded to run the soap and washcloth over the boy's shoulders and his bare back. What do you know, signs of good behavior, the prince thought upon observing the faded traces left most likely by the whip on the soft pale skin and lightly tracing the lines with his fingertips. Silence fell between the two of them and his touches did not linger, especially as he felt the other's thin body tense up, instead Sadiq busied himself with washing and rinsing his favorite's hair, gently treading his fingers through the light-colored strands.

"Let's braid your hair," the Turk said eventually, turning Alin around to face him. Parting a portion of hair carefully, the prince's fingers twisted and braided the damp strands on the side of the boy skull, then swept and tucked the loose tips behind his ear. "Murat Bey is just an arts teacher who knows nothing about war and none of the other boys has fought me and won, so they just talk crap," Sadiq murmured softly, tilting the Wallachian's chin up with the tips of his fingers. "And you're not a weakling," he added, leaning in a pressing a light kiss to the boy's cheek.

Alin took a sharp breath and the prince saw that his fists were clenched in his lap and eyebrows furrowed into a sudden, deep scowl. "I'm not… I'm not a slut either! Like-…" He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. "My uncle."

Sadiq blinked, completely surprised at first, then the wheels started to turn in his head. Was that the reason for Alin's constant reluctance bordering hostility in regard to everything here at the court? The reason for which he was always on edge, always on his guard, ready to strike like a cornered animal? Was he secretly feeling the pressure of an already bad reputation which wasn't even his own making?

"I don't know who your uncle is," he answered truthfully.

"Was," the boy corrected and sighed. "You must have heard of him, it was the man your father had an affair with, a long time ago. The Sultan favored him to such an extent that he gifted him the throne, deposing the old voievod."

"So… that one. Hmm… I remember now." Sadiq shifted closer, reaching for something. "Come sit in my lap."

Alin's eyes widened in horror. "Absolutely not! Didn't you hear what I just-"

"I want you to shave my beard and you won't be able like that, from the side. Come on, stop making a fuss," the prince replied, patting his knee briefly before picking up soap and a thin razor. "You don't think I'd do anything while you're handling this, do you?"

Alin tsked but eventually obeyed, still looking visibly upset and distrustful. He took the utensils from the Turk's hand and gave them a long, hard stare. "I've never done anything like this… I mean I don't need this yet, so-… You should do it yourself, what if I cut you by mistake? Don't you think so?"

"I think you should do your best not to cut me," Sadiq offered with a grin, resting his hands on the younger's half-bare thighs. "Here, I'll make sure you don't slip off."

Huffing and squinting, the Wallachian awkwardly ran the bar of soap over the sides of the other's face, his jaw line and below his chin and rubbed it to make foam, a bit rougher than necessary. A sigh escaped his lips as the razor was adjusted between his slender fingers and he leaned in closer, tilting his head to see a bit better.

"So, what do you think of it?" Alin asked, lowering the razor to the prince's jaw and dragging it across the skin with an all-too-prudent motion. "Of what your father did, I mean?"

"Nothing, really," Sadiq replied. "Our culture is very different from yours. The Sultan has many women in his harem, all slaves. He's not, as you would say, faithful to anyone, and there is a good, practical reason for that too, because such influence could not be allowed. So if he also took a hostage boy as his favorite, why would it matter then?"

"But it's not that simple! They say he was in love with my uncle, and would cater to his every whim while he was here! Isn't that too much influence?! And giving someone a crown is not just any gift!"

"No, but this gift came with some terms too, your uncle had sworn to protect our interests in Wallachia, most likely he promised a larger tribute than before and more boys for our Janissary cores. That's how these things work and besides, "the prince made a vague gesture with his hand "everyone is here to obtain some sort of advantage. As for my father's love, he has professed it for several people who subsequently ended up in the executioner's hands. Soon enough, he will have to sign a fatwa to have his own not chosen sons murdered and I know he will do it without flinching."

Alin's hand paused and he snorted, scowling some more. "How can you say that like it's nothing?" he asked in a low voice.

Truth be told, Sadiq had asked himself the same question back in his youth, he had asked his mother and his teachers, and the answers had been often bitter or brutal. This was the law. This was how it was. There was nothing but duty, a șehzade had to do his duty at every step.

"My father is not as much a father as he is my master, and from an early age I was taught not to anger him, often the hard way. He's never held me in his arms or praised me for anything, like other fathers do with their sons. And to be completely honest I've never looked up to him, so I never cared much for what he did." He looked up at the boy and wrapped his arms around his slim waist, pulling him closer. "But I suppose you're a lot more bitter about your uncle and judge him more harshly, don't you?"

"Well how could I not?!" his favorite huffed, failing to pry the prince's hands away and to free himself from the embrace which was clearly too close for his comfort. "He was a slut and a traitor! He returned to take the throne at the head of a Turkish army, fought and slaughtered his own people for it! And then he did all those things you said, protecting your interests!"

Sadiq shrugged. "Well, he wanted to rule. It's something to be voievod, right? Wouldn't you like to be voievod in your father's place when the time comes, instead of your older brother?" he asked slyly, green eyes glinting mischievously. Infidels were in no way better than his people when it came to power struggles, if anything they were worse.

Alin had resumed his work and the prince watched his fingers move with careful concentration, their eyes meeting only for a brief second. And now he will say he can't wait to go to war against us and it's probably true, he thought, biting his lip.

"No."

"No?" Well, this answer was surely surprising. "Are you sure?"

"When I was little and my uncle was still on the throne, one winter my father took my brother and I out in the field and ordered us to dig graves. It was a harsh winter and many peasants had died because of the tribute we'd had to pay earlier in the year and my father said it was the fault of the voievod and his family, so we should dig graves alongside everyone else. I could only dig a small one, but it was enough to fit a widow's newborn daughter. I put her in the ground myself, she was just a handful. If I had been voievod, it would have really been my fault and I'd rather not put anyone else in the ground as long as I live. I'd only make another bad voievod." The last words were a mere whisper and Alin lowered his hands, letting them fall limply in his own lap and his shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sadiq studied his face thoughtfully, momentarily at a loss for words. For a brief moment the image of his youngest brother Mustafa with a shovel in his hands and digging a grave – his own as it would turn out soon enough – lingered before his eyes and the fingers which were about to brush the other's cheek paused in mid-air.

I have no right to wipe anyone's tears.

He could not save Mustafa – his only dear sibling - just like he could not save himself. His little brother was much too young, he was only six, there was no chance he would be chosen. Still, Sadiq would have offered his own neck to the mutes if it meant saving the child's life, but it was useless. They would perish together. But a șehzade must always do his duty, even this duty. He must obey, he must endure everything.

"There are other options," the prince stated eventually, taking the shaving utensils from his favorite's hands and laying them aside, before both his hands clasped and gave a squeeze to the other's thin, damp fingers.

"What options, to get myself and many others killed in a war we can't win?" Alin grumbled.

Sadiq smiled and poked the tip of his nose playfully. "You're yet too young to have learned that not everything is simply black or white. There is something called diplomacy, but you're still like those feisty little dogs which despite being the size of someone's palm, they jump to tear them to shreds," he replied, wiping off the remnants of foam from his face.

He lifted the boy up and stood, throwing a robe over his shoulders. Then he did the same to his favorite and, without warning, scooped him up in his arms bridal style.

"What are you doing?! Put me down!"

"It's late, I'll take you to bed now," the Turk stated, unable to fight back a grin at the younger's instant distress.

"Wha- No!"

"Why do you keep saying 'no'? Does it look like it's working?"

To be continued

A/NVoievod – Medieval ruler