Halil’s injury had been brought to his attention, and he called on Theadora in order to apologize for the horse he had given to his younger sibling, and which had proved dangerous. Theadora accepted his apology, saying, “Ali Yahya tells me it is a blessing in disguise, for now Halil will be no threat to you.”

The prince replied candidly, “That is true, princess. But since the boy is no longer a danger, let us concentrate on planning his future. He is a highly intelligent lad and could be of great use to me.”

“I had thought to return to Constantinople with Halil some day,” she answered him. He need not know that that road was probably closed to her.

“But you must not do that! If you are truly unhappy I would not keep you here, but you are an Ottoman now, Adora, and we are proud of you.”

“There could be no place for me at your court, Suleiman.”

“I will make a place for you,” he said huskily. She looked up just in time to catch him mask the flicker of desire in his eyes. She was startled and quickly lowered her eyes so he might not see how upset she was. It seemed, she thought with wry amusement, that she held a fascination for the men of the Ottoman family. “You are most kind, Prince Suleiman, to offer us a home. I will rest more easily now, knowing that Halil’s future is secure.”

The prince bowed suavely and left her. Well, she chuckled to herself, Halil was safe, but was she? It disturbed her that Prince Suleiman should desire her. He had always treated her like a sister. And she had never encouraged his desire. She frowned. The voice of her servant, Iris, cut through the silence.

“Look in your mirror, my lady. The answer to your unspoken question is there.”

“You were eavesdropping!” Theadora accused.

“If I did not eavesdrop I should learn nothing, and then how could I protect you? You are as deep as a well, my princess.”

Adora laughed, “Give me a mirror, you incorrigible old snoop!”

Iris handed it to her, and Theadora looked at her image with careful scrutiny for the first time in many years. She was somewhat startled to find an incredibly beautiful young woman staring back at her. She had, it seemed, a heart-shaped face, a long straight nose, well-spaced amethyst eyes fringed heavily in gold-tipped black lashes, and a wide generous mouth with a full, almost pouting, lower lip. Her creamy skin was flawless.

She placed the mirror on the divan and walked over to its tall standing counterpart of clear Venetian glass, which was set in a heavily carved gold frame. Eyeing herself critically, she noted that she was taller than most women, yet willow slim, with high breasts. A good figure. She peered hard at herself. Is it really me? she asked silently. She was not vain by nature, and since the one thing she did not want to do was attract Orkhan’s attention, she had never really taken much care with her appearance.

“I am beautiful,” she said softly, her hand absently patting her dark hair.

“Yes, my princess, you are. And you are not even in your prime yet,” cackled Iris. “If Prince Suleiman desires you,” she continued in a low voice, “perhaps he will make you his wife when you are a widow. Then will your fortune and your future be made!”

“I have no desire to be his wife,” snapped Theadora in an equally low voice. “Besides he already has four wives, and he can have no more. I will be no man’s concubine!”

“Pah! It is easy enough for him to divorce one of his wives. They are only slaves. You are a princess.” She looked slyly at her mistress, her eyes bright. “Do not tell me you do not long for a young man’s love, a young man’s caress. You move about your room half the night. A few good tumbles with a lusty man would cure you of your restlessness.”

“You are impertinent, Iris! Beware, or I will have you whipped!” Damn the woman! Iris was far too observant.

Halil chose that moment to burst in upon his mother. “Look! I can walk again, Mother, without the crutches!” He ran into her arms and she almost wept at the sight of his very pronounced limp. His right foot was twisted inward.

“I am so proud of you,” she said kissing him soundly as he squirmed away, making a face. “Rude boy!” she scolded teasingly, drawing him down by her side. “Tell me, Halil, does it still hurt?”

“Only a little.” But he said it so quickly that she knew it probably hurt him a great deal.

Impulsively she asked, “How would you like to take a sea voyage, my son?”

“To where, Mother?”

“Thessaly, my love. There are ancient hot springs there whose waters would aid the soreness in your foot.”

“Will you come with me?”

“If your father will allow it,” she answered him, surprised that she hadn’t considered it before.

He struggled up, tugging at her hand. “Let us go now,”

Theadora laughed at his impatience but then thought, why not? She quickly followed her small son through the winding corridors that led from the haremlik to the selamlik, which were in turn followed by several panting eunuchs. They arrived quickly at the doors to the sultan’s apartments.

“Tell my father, the sultan, that Prince Halil and his mother, Princess Theadora, seek audience with him immediately.”

A few moments later the janissary returned. “The sultan will see you both now, Your Highness.” And he flung open one of the great oak doors.

They walked through into the lush chamber where Orkhan sat cross-legged upon a pile of cushions. Several young girls sat to his left playing softly upon stringed instruments. The most current of Orkhan’s favorites, a sulky mouthed, dark-haired Italian beauty, reclined next to him. Theadora and her son moved to the foot of the dais, but when Theadora moved to kneel, her son restrained her, glowering at his father’s concubine. “On your face, woman! My mother kneels only to my father and to her God!” And when the girl had the temerity to look to the sultan for confirmation, the child was on her with a roar of outrage. Pulling her from the cushions onto the floor, he cried, “Insolent one! You beg for a beating!”

Orkhan’s laughter rumbled through the room. “You have given me a true Ottoman, my Adora. Halil, my son, go gently with the girl. A slave such as this one is valuable merchandise.” He turned his gaze on the woman at his feet. “Leave me, Pakize. You will receive ten lashes for your lapse in manners. My wives are to be treated with the respect they deserve.”

The girl scrambled up and, body bent, backed her way out of the room.

Theadora now knelt and made a respectful obeisance to her husband while her son, Halil, bowed beautifully to his father.

“Sit next to me,” Orkhan commanded them, “and tell me why I have been honored by this visit today.”

Theadora settled herself by her husband and then said, “I wish to take Halil to Thessaly to the Springs of Apollo near Mount Ossa. The waters there are famous for healing, and though Halil will not admit it to me, I know he is in great pain. His foot and leg will never really mend properly, but at least the waters might help with his pain.”

“And you want to go with him?” asked the sultan.

“Yes, my lord, I do. He is still a little boy, and needs his mother. I know that you honor me, my lord, but you do not really need me. Halil does. Also, I would not trust our son to slaves on such a long journey.”

The sultan nodded. “You would not take him to Constantinople?”

“Never!”

Orkhan raised an amused eyebrow. “You are very vehement, my dear. Why is that?”

She hesitated, then said, “I had discussed with my sister the possibility of someday retiring to Constantinople with Halil. She made it quite clear that neither of us would be welcomed. She is an arrogant, stupid woman.”

He had known all of this, of course, for none of her private correspondence left or entered his palace that he did not read it first. Theadora was not aware of this, and she would have been very angry if she had known. He knew her far better than she realized, and though he would never have admitted it to her-for to do so would have been a sign of weakness-he admired her strength of character. And he was genuinely fond of her. She was a proud little creature. He realized how deeply her sister had hurt her.

“Take Halil to the Springs of Apollo, my dear. You have my permission to do so. Ali Yahya will see to your travel arrangements.” He turned to the boy. “You will look after your mother, Halil, and protect her from the infidel?”

“Yes, father! I have a new scimitar with a blade of real Toledo steel that my brother, Murad, sent to me from Gallipoli.”

Orkhan smiled at the child and patted his dark head. “I will trust you to guard her well, Halil. She is most precious to me, my son.” The sultan clapped his hands for refreshments.

And while the little boy happily munched honey-and-sesame cakes, Orkhan and Theadora talked. To her surprise, he no longer treated her as an object existing solely for his sensual pleasure, but rather like a favorite daughter. She, in turn, was more relaxed with him than she had ever been.

He spoke of eventually moving his capital to Adrianople, a city on the European side of the Sea of Marmara that he now had under siege. Theadora’s dowry gift had given him the toehold he had needed in Europe.

“When Adrianople is secure,” she asked, “will you take the city?”

“I will try,” he answered her. “Perhaps you will retire to Constantinople after all, my dear.”

She laughed. “Live a thousand years, my lord Orkhan! I am as yet too young to retire anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Too young, indeed, and far too lovely. You are easily the most beautiful woman in my house.” Then, seeing the wary look spring into her eyes, he gently dismissed her and the boy.

Alone, he wondered, as he had wondered a thousand times since she had first come to him, why she did not like lovemaking. She had never known any man but him, of that he was certain. She had been a virgin. She was wildly passionate when roused, but he had always felt that she was not with him-but with some ghostly lover. He might have suspected another man, but cloistered as she had been within her convent, she could not have had another man.