CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE
“You, stupid boy.” Hafsa strode around the pond toward Suleyman.
The Sultan glanced up from his writings, perplexed by her reproach.
The Valide Sultana had thought for many weeks in the solitude of her suite. No matter how she formulated her thoughts, she had always come to the same conclusion.
“Stupid boy,” she said again, slapping him across the cheek.
Suleyman took the blow in incomprehension. “What are you talking about, Mother? What have I done now?”
“You know very well what has occurred in your suites over the last year. Cihangir is testament to your activities. Do you give no thought to the House of Osman and the future of the Empire?” She paced back and forth. “You have always been ruled by your heart, and that will ultimately be your downfall—if
