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He did not understand what he was seeing.
For a moment, just a moment, Evrenos thought his mind had betrayed him.
Fatma stepped into the clearing, giving a piece of garment to her lady's help, veiled in another woman’s name, another woman’s danger… and yet unmistakably herself. But it was not the disguise that unravelled him. It was the curve beneath her cloak. The unmistakable swell of a life she was pretending to carry.
His breath caught. But his mind, reckless and disobedient, had already leapt ahead of him.
It did not see deception. It saw the truth.
It saw mornings softened by quiet laughter. It saw her walking slowly, one hand resting there, the other reaching for him. It saw a child—his child—with her eyes. A daughter, stubborn and bright, wrapped in warmth that only Fatma could give.
And her—glowing.
Not like this, not ready to step into danger, not in disguise.
But real.
His chest tightened at the sheer force of it. A future that did not exist… yet felt so vivid it almost hurt to return to the present.
He forced himself to breathe.
Focus.
She was speaking. Playing her part. Strong, composed—too composed for the storm she had just unleashed inside him.
Evrenos straightened, schooling his expression into something passable. Controlled. Light.
Normal.
“Do I look okay?” Her voice was soft, almost unsure, and that alone unsettled him more than anything else.
Okay? He almost laughed.
“Pregnacy… looks good on you,” he managed, the words rougher than intended, as though his thoughts had tripped over themselves on the way out.
Her eyes flickered, just slightly—and there it was. That spark. That silent challenge she always carried.
“Evrenos…” she began again, that warning tone slipping in.
“The Alps will hear.”
“What?” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite everything. “It is no lie. You look beautiful… in everything.”
He saw it then—the faint color rising to her cheeks, soft and unguarded despite her effort to remain composed. It sent a quiet, dangerous satisfaction through him.
She turned her face slightly, as if that would hide it. It did not.
“Evrenos…” she repeated, softer now.
He stepped closer.
He should not have. But restraint had already begun slipping through his fingers the moment he saw her like this.
“I am only saying the truth,” he murmured, lowering his voice.
He could feel it, the fragile line between them. The one they never crossed. The one he was constantly tempted to.
His gaze dropped, just for a second, to the curve beneath her cloak.
That false, treacherous illusion.
Evrenos exhaled slowly. Too close. He was standing too close.
His hand followed before he could stop himself, drawn by something deeper than thought, hovering just short of touching.
She stepped back. Not even consciously, perhaps. But enough.
The distance returned like a blade sliding back into place. Invisible, but very much there. Evrenos stilled. Not a word of it crossed his face. Not a flicker of disappointment. But he felt it.
Not yet. Not like this. He will wait for the right day.
A day when he would not have to measure distance in inches and restrain. A day where he could reach for her without thought, without fear, without the weight of what stood between them.
He swallowed it down, forcing lightness back into his tone.
He looked at her again, softer now, something steadier beneath the teasing edge.
“Do you like children, Fatma Hatun?”
That caught her off guard.
“Evrenos!” she whisper-scolded, flustered, glancing around as if the trees themselves might hear.
“What?” he replied softly, almost teasing. “I am only asking…I never thought about such things before,” he said, quieter now. “Not about children… not about a family.”
A pause.
“Not before meeting you.”
That was the truth. Bare. Unadorned.
She stilled.
“And now… do you?” she asked, and there was something in her voice he had never heard before.
Hope?
Fear?
He did not hesitate.
“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”
A small breath left him, almost like surrender.
“First… I would want a daughter.” His gaze softened. “Just like you.”
There it was again—that blush, that quiet smile she tried to hide and failed. It hit him harder than any battlefield victory ever had.
And yet, just as quickly, she gathered herself.
“Look at this bey…” she said, a hint of laughter slipping through. “Already dreaming.”
Fatma let out a soft scoff, though the warmth had not left her face.
“You speak boldly for a man who seems to forget one small detail.”
“And what is that?”
“My brother,” she said, almost sweetly. “My brother has not even forgiven us.”
Evrenos did not waver.
“He will.”
Confidence settled into his voice like armour.
“He has invited me to his table. That is not nothing.” He held her gaze, steady, certain. “And they will not find a better son-in-law for you than me.”
For a moment, she simply looked at him—taking in that confidence, that unwavering belief that bordered on infuriating.
And then, she tilted her head, amused despite herself.
“Such confidence…You still do not understand what I am saying.”
That made him pause.
A flicker of unease, brief but real.
“What?” he asked. “Why do you say that?”
And then she struck.
“Tell me…” she said lightly, watching him too closely, “even if my brother agrees…”
A heartbeat.
“Who will you bring to ask for my hand?”
Silence.
It was subtle—but it was there.
The smallest crack.
Flavius blinked.
Someone… from his side.
The thought had not—until this exact moment—fully formed.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
For once, words failed him.
Fatma saw it immediately.
And she laughed.
Not loudly. Not mockingly. Just enough to let him know she had won this round entirely.
Flavius exhaled, a hand dragging briefly over his jaw as realisation settled in.
Yes.
That… was a problem.
A very real one.
And as her laughter lingered between them, light and unrestrained, he found himself thinking—not for the first time—that winning her heart might have been the easier battle.
Winning the world around her?
That would require far more careful planning. He will do it though; he will find his true comrades and will ask for Fatma’s hand in marriage. He just needs to figure out who and how… and maybe when.