Chapter 69
I was certain now that the High Priest already knew my true identity. Narrowing my eyes, I replied calmly.
“I did hear that he’s been waiting for the appearance of the ‘Prophetic Cat.’ But I don’t want to be tied to some absurd legend. I’m just me, nothing more.”
“You speak the truth. I believe even he would not wish for Lady Ishtar to trouble herself over such things.”
“Then why are you telling me all this?”
Despite the sharpness in my tone, the High Priest merely chuckled softly.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky for a moment, pausing as if recalling a distant memory.
“I have been by his side since I was very young. It has been seventy years since I entered the palace. A lifetime ago, really.”
“Seventy years…?!”
Wow. This old man looks way younger than that.
He didn’t look a day over sixty, and I was quietly impressed when he continued.
“No one knows when Lord Aziz first came into existence. In fact, it’s uncertain whether he’s even human. He’s more like a messenger of the gods. Much like you, Lady Ishtar.”
Wait—can he say things like that out loud? Seriously, Grandpa Priest?!
Startled, I glanced around quickly, only to spot several of his personal guards standing watch nearby.
Seeing not a single passerby—no, not even an ant—I let out a small sigh of relief.
“But I’m different from him,” I murmured. “Aside from occasionally turning into a cat, I’m just an ordinary human. Well… not that ordinary, I suppose.”
“There is no need for worry,” the High Priest assured me. “You know that Lord Aziz is a prophet, yes? He once foretold that, in time, you too would be able to live as an ordinary human.”
My ears perked up. I leaned closer, eyes wide.
“Really? You mean I can go back to being human?”
“Yes. His words are never false. And… I believe he wishes for it more than anyone.”
A faintly sorrowful smile crossed his face as he sighed.
“When I was but an apprentice cleric, there was a woman who stayed by his side. She was called the Saint of that era—an extraordinary woman, blessed with divine power.”
“But I heard there are no saints anymore,” I said carefully.
“That’s true. In those days, saints of the kingdom were sacrificed to the gods once they came of age. Lord Aziz tried in every way possible to prevent it… but he failed.”
I inhaled sharply. That explained why he had reacted so strongly whenever the word saint came up before.
“The previous Sultan outlawed the saint ritual, labeling it an ancient evil. And the current Sultan, Hürrem, has kept that decree. Now the very concept of a saint has nearly faded from memory. Only old men like me still remember.”
“I see… I didn’t know Aziz had that kind of past.”
What was his relationship with that saint, I wondered?
A lover? A daughter-like figure?
I couldn’t be sure, but whoever she was, she must have been deeply important to him—someone he had carried in his heart for centuries.
While I was lost in thought, the High Priest spoke again.
“I have watched Lord Aziz longer than anyone in this palace. Perhaps I’m the one who understands his heart best. That is why I wished to thank you, Lady Ishtar.”
“Thank me? Why?”
“Because of you, I’ve seen him smile again—laugh, even—like a human being. It’s been decades since I’ve seen that. To witness such a sight again before I depart this world… it fills me with joy.”
A bright, warm smile spread across the old man’s face.
“Please remember this, no matter what happens later. Lord Aziz will never resent you. On the contrary—he will be grateful. For you’ve reminded him what it means to be human.”
“Why do you keep saying such ominous things?” I frowned. “It sounds like something terrible is about to happen to him.”
He chuckled softly. “No one knows what the future holds, my lady. Forgive the ramblings of an old man who worries too much. I’m too aware that my own time grows short.”
There was something in his eyes then—something deep and unfathomable—that made it hard to keep looking at him.
I averted my gaze, murmured my thanks, and watched blankly as he turned and slowly walked away.
For some reason, an uneasy feeling lingered in my chest long after he was gone.
***
A short while later, in Süleyman’s office.
He had just returned from a strategy meeting with his closest aides, including Iblan.
‘The capital’s been too quiet lately…’ he thought grimly.
Their raid on the Diader base—an empty shell, as expected—had been meant as a warning.
A demonstration that if we wish, we can find even those who’ve long hidden in the shadows.
A message meant to instill fear.
But instead of retaliating, the enemy had gone completely silent. Even the chaos once rampant in the underworld had subsided.
Ironically, the whole ordeal had worked to Süleyman’s advantage—illegal traders and smugglers had been flushed out or destroyed in the aftermath.
‘Then why did they cause that commotion in the first place?’ he mused.
To sow chaos in the capital? Or perhaps to make a statement of their own—
That Diader was not to be underestimated.
“…This gives me a headache.”
Few things were harder to deal with than a clever madman—especially one whose motives were unclear.
And Süleyman had a gut feeling that the hidden leader of Diader was just that kind of person.
During the investigation, he’d also stumbled upon something unexpected: Berhan was involved in suspicious dealings.
The man had been mingling with the Janissaries—an old, powerful military order—and funding multiple ventures within the capital.
If Roxellana had been pouring her fortune into charity—running orphanages and clinics—then Berhan seemed to be managing the… other side of things.
Even more troubling was the rumor that the attack on Ishtar had been ordered by someone closely connected to him.
It was possible Berhan’s own money had been used to fund it.
“If that’s true,” Süleyman muttered darkly, “then I can’t let it slide.”
His eyes flashed with deadly intent.
Though he was restraining himself for now—on Hürrem’s advice that the time wasn’t yet right—it wouldn’t be for long.
Hürrem planned to pass down her position to him soon—perhaps next year, or the year after.
Originally, the transition was meant to be slower, but Süleyman’s exceptional skill and eagerness for power had accelerated the plan.
He wanted authority. The kind that could crush any threat standing against him—
And make Ishtar untouchable, beyond the reach of anyone’s insolent gaze.
He would adorn her with gold and surround her with the rarest treasures of the world.
“Ishtar,” he whispered, “I want to become a man worthy of you.”
A pang of guilt twisted his heart.
Because of him, she had nearly died—more than once.
And the cursed blood running through his veins made him nothing more than “the prince’s consort” in name—a disgrace that gnawed at him.
There were reasons he couldn’t confess his love to her openly.
One was the law: before ascending the throne, any woman he took would legally belong to the royal harem.
And Süleyman could never bear to see her trapped in such a cage.
That was why he needed absolute power—power that no one could question.
Opening a drawer, he pulled out a small slip of paper, scribbled a short message, and tied it to a carrier pigeon’s leg.
It read simply: “Investigate Berhan.”
After sending the bird off, he wrapped up his remaining paperwork and left his office earlier than usual.
“Where is Lady Ishtar now?” he asked a servant.
“She attended the regular service at the Grand Temple and has since returned to her chambers to rest.”
His eyes brightened.
“Perhaps I’ll invite her to dinner tonight,” he said, almost giddy. “Send word ahead—no, never mind, I’ll get there faster myself.”
“Pardon? Your Highness… you’ll run there?”
“I’ll go first. Handle anything that comes up behind me. And if anyone dares get in my way, tell them I said to cut their head off.”
Before anyone could react, Süleyman bolted from the room at an astonishing speed.
His attendants stared, dumbfounded, before scrambling after him.
But even at full sprint, none could keep up.
“Has the prince… lost his mind?” one of them gasped.
The man who’d once shown no interest in anything beyond state affairs—who’d barely cared for food or sleep—was now sprinting through the palace just to ask a woman to dinner.
It had to be overwork. Or maybe he really had gone mad.
The guards rubbed their eyes, staring down the empty corridor he’d vanished into.
Only dust motes, glimmering in the slanting light of sunset, remained behind—dancing lazily in the air like heat haze.
