And I Darken (The Conqueror's Saga, #1)

by Kiersten White

“It is our pleasure to teach them.” Vlad looked at the square, where the two bound men had been stripped of their clothing. He met Lada’s questioning eyes, and his own widened with an expression she had never before seen in them. “Radu, then,” he said, hurriedly. “The girl is due for a convent. She is far too willful and contrary to be taught, and anyway, education is wasted on women.” Normally such a statement would have enraged Lada, but she was unnerved by her father’s face. Last year she had wandered out to the slaughterhouse, drawn by the noise of the pigs. She had expected them to scream only when being killed, but instead they began screaming, their eyes rolling back in terror, at the mere scent of their littermates’ blood.

Vlad hoped that getting Lada sent away to a convent would save her, avoid her being used as leverage by the Ottomans against him

“On our wedding night,” she said, “I will cut out your tongue and swallow it. Then both tongues that spoke our marriage vows will belong to me, and I will be wed only to myself. You will most likely choke to death on your own blood, which will be unfortunate, but I will be both husband and wife and therefore not a widow to be pitied.”

So is it Nicolae?

A Jannisary soldier planned Mehmed's assassination and failed, and his Jannisary guards never came to his aid when he called for them (lone wolf or group conspiracy?)

He walked into the barracks, joining his fellow soldiers, and leaving Lada alone with her worries. They were poor company, nagging and tugging, pulling her hair and whispering in her ear.

Halil Pasha exposes Lada's status as collateral for her dad's loyalty to the Ottomans (which he betrayed) so as to get rid of her, the sole protector of Mehmed as sultan

The hajj, traveling to the birthplace of the Prophet at Mecca, was one of the five pillars of Islam. Along with prayer, fasting during Ramadan, giving charity to the poor, and declaring that there is no God but God, it made up the simplest base of being Muslim.

“This is not Radu’s writing, but the signature is his. Whoever wrote this, it was not him. Someone wanted you to leave.” Mehmed frowned at the letter as though it would reveal its secrets. “Who would wish this?” For a few dark moments—the darkest of her life, even worse than thinking Mehmed dead—Lada wondered if Radu had been behind it, after all. She had what he wanted. It would have been a perfect way to get rid of her without killing her.

Lazar had Radu sign a letter so Lada would leave Mehmed available for Radu! (?)

“Radu, sweet Radu. When you look at me there is no hunger in your gaze. I have spent a good deal of time observing men and the way they look at women, and you do not look at me as a man looks upon something he desires.” Fear blossomed, its dark petals spreading wide. “You are very beautiful, and—” She squeezed his hand, shaking her head. “It is not a hunger I welcome. That is why I picked you. You are kind and smart and you are…alone. And you will, I think, always have to be alone.” She formed it almost as a question, her eyes searching his for a truth he did not want them to find. “Do you remember our dance?” Radu shook his head. “At Mehmed’s wedding to Sitti Hatun.” “Ah, yes.” “Half the women in the room watched you move, craving your attention, waiting for their turn. And you looked at none of them. I knew then. I understand. I understand what it is to look upon what you are supposed to have and feel nothing.” She waited, then whispered, “I understand.” Radu realized tears had formed in his eyes. “You do?” “I do. As your wife, I would expect only your friendship. Nothing more.” She looked at the ground, and a blush spread across her cheeks. “And I would request that my maid, Fatima, be allowed to accompany me. Always.” “Fatima.” Radu sat back, remembering. The way Nazira’s gaze always followed the maid wherever she went, the day he found them in the gardens, breathless and flushed, their hair askew from being chased by a bee.

Amazing

Lada inched closer to the other women, her hair trailing behind her. But instead of speaking of Radu’s favor in the capital and his connections to Mehmed, the women spoke of his eyes. They spoke of his smile. They spoke of his charm and his kindness. Each one had an anecdote, a story of something Radu had done for them or for someone they knew. Some perfectly timed joke, some utterly captivating tale, some startling moment of generosity. A pang in her chest made Lada aware of a strange sense of loss. Of missing Radu. Because she did not know the man they were speaking of, and she thought she might want to.

Mehmed's mother had the next heir in line drowned despite Mehmed's wishes, so as to not give a reason to any foes for killing Mehmed