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“Of course.”
“I depend on you. I trust you as I trust no one else.”
Radu smiled, lifting a hand to his heart. “And I you.”
“Do you remember a man from your childhood? Lada’s friend? Bogdan?”
Radu wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Yes. They were always teasing me. He was an oaf.”
Mehmed scowled. “He is here.”
“What? Here?”
“Nicolae found him.”
Panic clawed through Radu’s chest, and he was suddenly eight again, too timid, too quick to cry, too easy a target. Bogdan had forced him to put on his nurse’s shawl, taunting that if Radu loved her so much, he may as well be her. Worse had been the fear that, no matter what, his nurse would always love Bogdan more. No matter how hard Radu wished, Bogdan was her child, Radu her charge.
Bogdan being taken away had been one of the highlights of his childhood, because it left him unlimited access to his nurse’s heart.
And Lada’s.
But now Lada was not his, had not been for a long time. And she had Mehmed. And she had Bogdan back, too. A spot behind Radu’s eyes pulsed with a stab of white-hot pain.
“I hate him.” Radu cringed, knowing he should have censored his words better. But there was something triumphant in Mehmed’s face, as though Radu had proved a point.
Then Mehmed shifted again, abruptly, turning away from Radu. “I have had news from Wallachia. It was late coming, and I wondered at the lack of a gift or emissary upon my crowning.” He stopped pacing. “Your father is dead.”
Radu understood the words, but they had no meaning. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His father. A high laugh echoed through the room, and only when he put his fingers to his mouth did Radu realize it was coming from him. “Do you know, I cannot even recall what he looked like? Only how he made me feel.”
Mehmed took Radu’s hand. “How did he make you feel?”
“Like I was nothing.” Radu could not look away from Mehmed’s hand on his. “And now he is nothing.”
Mehmed was quiet for a few moments. Radu knew he ought to be sad, or ask questions, but he was more relieved than anything else. Vlad no longer existed in the world, and Radu could not consider that a bad thing.
“Would you like to know how it happened?”
Radu grunted his assent.
“It was Hunyadi, on behalf of the boyars. They killed Mircea as well.”
“Poor Mircea. I am certain that must have upset him.”
Mehmed’s face drew closer to Radu’s, interrupting his view of the ceiling. His brows were pinched in concern. “Are you well?”
Radu put a hand to his forehead, pushing down against the lightness overwhelming him. “I think I am.”
“I tell you this because…because you are the heir to the throne. You are the next in line. And, as sultan, with Wallachia as a vassal state, if that w
as what you wanted…”
Radu felt the weight of the world crash back down on him. Wallachia, with endless dark trees and fists in the forests, with fountains that brought gasping, choking mouthfuls of water instead of beauty, with winters as cold as a father’s dismissal. Wallachia, with Lada back with Bogdan, not needing him, not seeing him, not caring. Wallachia, with no mosques, no call to prayer, no god that knew or cared for him.
Wallachia, with no Mehmed.
He grasped Mehmed’s shoulders. “I know it would help you, to have someone you could trust on that throne. And I want to serve you, to do whatever I can to help you gain Constantinople and be the sultan your empire has waited for. I will do whatever I can. But please, I beg you, do not ask this of me. I want nothing from Wallachia, as it never wanted anything from me. My home is here, with you. Please do not send me away.”
Mehmed’s face smoothed with relief, and he folded Radu into an embrace. Radu drew a trembling breath, breathing in Mehmed, steadying himself.
