CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Suleyman held the dagger to Davud’s jaw.
“Does Haseki know of this intrigue?”
“No, my lord. The last she knew of me was as a corpse lying in the market square of Lvov a decade ago.”
Suleyman hesitated, studying the man within his grasp. The thick brown lashes brushed the tops of b****y cheeks. The broad eyebrows, the sturdy forehead and prickle of stubble over the shaved head were matted with blood and mud. The generous lips trembled, but were still strong and defiant. Even in this sorry condition and seconds from execution, Davud was handsome. Suleyman beheld the blade that glimmered with a streak of blood from Davud’s neck. The skin below the Itchoglan’s jaw line gaped open, but no arteries were severed; no more than a wound of the outer flesh, no worse than any h
