Rivalry

St. Petersburg, Russia

Catherine the Great sat regally on her opulent chair, a masterpiece adorned with gold filigree and inlaid sapphires, its presence a reflection of her unrivaled authority. The grand hall, with its high vaulted ceilings and walls lined with portraits of her Romanov predecessors, seemed almost silent in anticipation of her command. Yet, her piercing blue eyes betrayed impatience as she glanced toward the ornate clock on the mantle.

"How much longer must I wait for my ministers?" she muttered, her voice crisp, carrying a note of irritation that echoed through the room.

A courtier standing by the door, dressed in the deep blue and silver livery of the imperial household, bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, they have been delayed slightly by matters of state, but they will arrive shortly."

She sighed, placing her delicate yet firm hands on the gilded armrests of her throne. "Very well, but do not make me come to them," she muttered, her words soft but carrying a quiet edge that sent shivers through the room.

Catherine lifted her porcelain coffee cup, the rich aroma wafting upwards as she took a measured sip, her composure unshaken. The warmth of the brew was a stark contrast to the cold calculations running through her mind.

Her thoughts drifted to the monumental changes she had wrought since seizing power from her feeble husband, Peter III. The coup that had once been whispered of in doubt was now heralded as a masterstroke of imperial ambition. She was no mere ruler; she was an architect of Russia's destiny.

Under her reign, the empire surged forward. New policies, expanding borders, and a relentless pursuit of modernization marked her rule as one of transformation. She ruled with the confidence of a sovereign who understood that power came not from mere titles but from unwavering resolve.

Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "The Ottomans, defeated by a woman," she mused inwardly, the irony a personal delight. It was more than a boast—it was a testament to her ability to wield strategy as effectively as any general. The age of enlightenment was upon them, and Russia, under her guidance, had embraced it with fervor. Where others stumbled, she sprinted. Where others hesitated, she conquered.

It had been two centuries since the rivalry between the Ottoman and Russian Empires first ignited—a relentless contest of power, influence, and ambition. The seeds of this enduring struggle were sown at Astrakhan, where Russia boldly expanded its reach, securing the vital trade routes along the Volga. With the Ottoman influence in the region tenuous at best, the opportunity was too tempting to ignore.

The conquest did not go unnoticed by the Ottomans. Outraged by what they saw as an encroachment on their sphere of influence, they declared war on Russia in 1568, launching what would become the First Russo-Ottoman War.

Though the Ottomans sought to reassert their dominance, the conflict ended in Russia's favor. The victory marked a turning point, showcasing the rise of Russian strength and the gradual erosion of Ottoman supremacy in peripheral regions. Yet, even in victory, diplomacy tempered Russia's actions. In a gesture of calculated goodwill, we ensured the safe passage of Ottoman pilgrims, a concession that maintained a semblance of peace while solidifying our foothold in Astrakhan.

This event, though distant in time, cast a long shadow, becoming the foundation of a rivalry that had shaped the destinies of both empires. For the Ottomans, it was a bitter reminder of their waning control. For Russia, it was a declaration of intent—a signal to the world that the Russian Empire was ascending, ready to challenge the old powers at every turn.

Moments later, the Grand Secretary, Grigory Kozitsky enter the royal chamber, where Catherine sat.

"My Empress, I arrived. Forgive me for my lateness. I've come to give reports regarding our delegates to the Balkan regions"

"Oh my you're late. Continue the report."

"My Empress, as of now, we manage to gather support among the representatives in the Balkans, and from where I see, we also face some problems from the Ottoman authorities. But do not fret, we still manage to slip past."

"Good. keep up the good work. Because we still need the Balkan region. The Rodina need to spread its wings, especially to the Balkans. Also how's the movement on Crimean Khanate, any updates on that?"

"Yes, on that matter, we still try to gather intel on the janissary activities. Although they are vassals, it seems the Ottomans still put their muscles on Crimea. It would be a bit hard, but thanks to your military initiative, they wouldn't know our military advantage."

"Impressive, spasiba Grand Secretary, if there's nothing else, you may leave"

Grigory bows, and quietly leaves the room.

"Now, where did I leave that?" Catherine muttered, her fingers tracing the edge of her desk as she sifted through documents scattered across its surface. Maps of the Balkans, reports from Crimea, and sketches of naval vessels lay before her—a testament to her empire's far-reaching ambitions.

She paused, her eyes narrowing on a particular parchment marked with the seal of Admiral Alexei Orlov. It detailed the progress of her navy in the Black Sea—a cornerstone of her strategy against the Ottomans.

Thanks to their victory previous wars, they managed to secure Azov province, which was former of Ottoman territory. They had developed Azov province as naval bases, so technically they can still can have access to the black sea, but just not effective as in Crimea province. 

A knock interrupted her thoughts. "Enter," she said, her voice calm but commanding.

A young aide stepped in, his expression a mix of excitement and unease. "Your Majesty, a dispatch has arrived from the southern front. It concerns our operations near the Dniester River."

"Hand it over," Catherine ordered, her tone betraying a flicker of urgency. She took the letter, her sharp eyes scanning the contents.

As she read, a subtle smile played on her lips. "Interesting. It seems the Ottomans are diverting troops to suppress unrest in the Balkans. This will thin their defenses in Crimea."

The aide hesitated before speaking. "Shall I inform the generals to accelerate our plans in the region, Your Majesty?"

"Not yet," Catherine replied, setting the letter down. "Let the Ottomans chase shadows in the Balkans for now. When the time is right, they will find their backs unguarded."

She rose from her chair, walking toward the grand window overlooking the snow-dusted streets of St. Petersburg. "The Sultan thinks he holds the leash on his vassals, but his grasp weakens. The Balkans will slip through his fingers, and Crimea... Crimea will be ours."

Her words hung in the air like a declaration of fate, her vision for Russia's expansion unshaken. "Send word to Orlov. I want our fleet ready to strike at a moment's notice. And Kozitsky..."

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Remind him that failure in the Balkans is not an option. If the Rodina is to spread its wings, as I have decreed, we cannot afford even a single misstep."

The aide bowed and quickly left the chamber, leaving Catherine alone with her thoughts once more.

She turned back to her desk, this time picking up a smaller, more discreet document—a ciphered message from one of her spies embedded in Constantinople. As she broke the seal and began to decode it, her smile faded, replaced by a look of icy determination.

"Let's see what secrets the Sultan's court holds," she murmured to herself. 

~~~

Istanbul, Ottoman Empire

The warm afternoon light filtered through the grand windows of Topkapi Palace, casting golden hues across the chamber. Sultan Mustafa III sat at the central table, his eyes scanning through documents regarding urban construction projects in Istanbul. The room carried an air of quiet determination as the Sultan pondered the weight of the decisions being made.

A polite knock interrupted his thoughts. Without waiting for a response, Grand Vizier Mehmed Pasha entered, bowing deeply. "Hünkârım, I bring the reports you requested."

Mustafa gestured for him to approach. "Mehmed Pasha, come. Sit. What news do you bring?"

The Vizier settled into a chair across from the Sultan and handed him a leather-bound ledger. "The coinage policy you initiated has shown remarkable results. The initiative gets well-received from the public, especially to the merchants and the artisans. Technically the coinage has fostered trust and stability among them, and the internal trade starts to kick in.

Mustafa leaned back, a rare glimmer of satisfaction crossing his face. "Good. Our coinage was in chaos, Mehmed. Thanks to those people like debassers, they totally made our coffers dry. This policy was not without its risks, yet it seems the people understand its necessity."

He paused, his expression growing contemplative. "And what of the Balkans? I hear the whispers of unrest growing louder with each passing day."

Mehmed Pasha nodded gravely. "Indeed, Hünkârım. The situation is... precarious. While there has been no outright rebellion, the undercurrents of dissatisfaction remain. The local governors struggle to balance the demands of the populace with the expectations of the Porte. The Orthodox clergy, emboldened by foreign influences—particularly Russian agents—continue to stir dissent among the people. Their message of independence resonates, especially in the more remote regions."

"Foreign influences," Mustafa murmured, his voice laced with disdain. "Russia does not rest. Catherine's ambitions are clear: she seeks to undermine us at every turn. What of the Janissaries stationed there? Are they sufficient to maintain order?"

Mehmed hesitated before responding. "Hünkârım, the Janissaries stationed in the Balkans are adequate for now, but their effectiveness has been questioned. They maintain order through sheer presence, but their discipline is far from ideal. To solidify our hold, we may need to send reinforcements or perhaps rotate in more experienced units from Anatolia. However, doing so will strain our already stretched resources."

Mustafa's brow furrowed as he tapped the edge of the table thoughtfully. "If we allocate more Janissaries, we risk weakening our defenses elsewhere. Yet, to leave the Balkans vulnerable is to invite further Russian meddling and perhaps even open rebellion. What do you suggest, Mehmed?"

Mehmed Pasha took a deep breath before speaking. "Hünkârım, the solution lies not solely in military strength but also in governance. We must empower our loyal governors in the region, providing them with resources and autonomy to address local grievances swiftly. At the same time, we must strengthen our intelligence networks to root out Russian agitators before things get worse."

The Sultan's gaze sharpened. "And the Orthodox clergy? They wield far too much influence over the hearts and minds of the people."

"Their influence is undeniable," Mehmed admitted, "but outright confrontation with the clergy risks sparking greater unrest. Instead, we can counter their narrative by strengthening alliances with loyalist factions among the Muslim and Catholic populations. Additionally, revitalizing infrastructure in key towns could win over the people—showing them the benefits of remaining under the Ottoman fold."

Mustafa considered the proposal, his mind weighing the delicate balance of power. "Very well. Draft a plan to increase support for our governors and bolster our infrastructure projects in the region. Allocate funds judiciously, Mehmed—exhausting our treasury is out of question. As for the Janissaries, rotate a small number of experienced officers to oversee the current forces. Let them instill discipline and ensure no insubordination."

Mehmed bowed deeply. "It shall be done, Hünkârım. May Allah guide your wisdom."

As the Grand Vizier departed, Mustafa stared out of the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The Balkans had always been a boiling pot of cultures and ambitions, a critical part of the empire and a gateway to Europe. If he could stabilize the region and thwart Russian interference, it would strengthen the Ottoman hold. But he knew all too well that stability was a fleeting illusion, one that required constant vigilance and delicate maneuvering.