Radu had just nodded and wished her well when she told him she was leaving. And now he was married.

“It makes no sense,” Mehmed said. “What does Kumal Pasha have to gain by an alliance with Radu?”

Lada scoffed. “Is it not obvious? Kumal is a pasha now. Radu has your favor. Kumal wants to be closer to you. We will have to watch him.”

Mehmed shook his head. “Kumal has no ties to Halil Pasha. In fact, I have already gone over all the taxes and accounts from Kumal’s vilayet. He is beyond reproach. He and his men acquitted themselves with honor during the siege of Skanderberg. He already knows I value and trust him, and he is respectful without ever courting favor. This does not benefit him. But Nazira is his youngest sister. Perhaps he spoils her, and let her pick her own match.”

Lada did not want that to be true. She wanted there to be a darker purpose, a reason to hate them, a reason to punish them. But Radu was smart. If he were in trouble, he would have gone to Mehmed, if not Lada.

“Maybe…maybe she really does love him.” Lada knew Radu did not love Nazira. But if it made him happy to focus on a person other than Mehmed, it could be a good thing for him as well.

Mehmed shook his head. “Of course she would love him. Half the city is in love with him. Still, his acceptance makes no sense. He does not love her.”

Lada watched him to see if there was more meaning, more understanding behind his words, but she could not tell.

He stared at the wall, deep in thought. “And she cannot make him happy.”

A bathhouse conversation tugged at Lada. “What about Nazira?”

“Hmm?” Mehmed finally focused on her, still distracted. “What about her?”

“Why is it her duty to make him happy? What will Radu do to make her happy?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Be her husband. Provide for her. Give her…children.” He puckered his lips as though the word was distasteful. As though he had not already done the same.

“And children are her reward for enduring him.”

“Enduring him? She is fortunate!”

“Tell me,” Lada said, her thoughts of snakes and gardens and seeds and duties now muddied with steam-swirled, improbable ideas of pleasure beyond kissing. “What do you do to make your women happy?”

Mehmed’s mouth drew taut, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “My women? What are you speaking of?”

“Your harem. They exist to serve you. They give you sons.” She spat the word out. “What do you do for them?”

“I do not wish to speak of that with you. You know I have to—”

“This is not about what you have to do! Do you like them? Do you love them? Which of them do you love best?”

“I do not know! They are— It is different. It is like the man who carries my stool. I neither like nor dislike him. He is there to serve a purpose. Why do you want to talk about this?”

“Because I want to know if you have ever, even once, thought of what might bring them pleasure! Or is it entirely a transaction, part of the business of being sultan? Are they as stools to you?”

His brows drew close together, his expression pained. “Which answer do you want, Lada? Which would make it better?”

She backed up. “I do not know.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, eyes on the floor and voice uncharacteristically tentative. “If you wanted to…I would do whatever you wanted, whatever you needed for us to be together. Anything.”

With a sharp rap preceding him, Nicolae opened the door. Lada jumped guiltily away from Mehmed. Nicolae grinned, oblivious to the atmosphere in the room.

“We are not due for a changing of the guard for another hour, when you will accompany me to the royal treasury,” Mehmed snapped, sitting down.

Nicolae bowed deeply. “My anticipation is so strong it is physically painful to wait even that long. But I am not here for you, my father. Lada, I have a surprise for you. Come out.”

“Bring it in here.” Mehmed slouched on his chair, scowling.

Nicolae shrugged, but his scarred face was unable to conceal his glee as he stepped aside.

A man walked into the room, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, thick in his movements. He wore a Janissary uniform. Lada was about to shout at Nicolae that a new recruit was hardly worth the interruption, until she saw what the man’s cap failed to cover.

Two ears that stuck out like the handles on a jug.

His grin felt like all of Wallachia reaching out to draw her home. “Lada,” Bogdan said.