CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Haseki embroidered a scarlet cushion in the quiet of the Valide Sultan’s Courtyard. Hafsa sat at her side, picking through a bowl of precious stones to be sewn onto the fabric. It had been five months since Suleyman had left Istanbul in anger, and now he would miss the birth of their fourth child. Haseki was saddened that there had been no letters—no word at all. Rumors circulated throughout the city of the victories in the north, but she hungered for a personal word from her love.
“Do not fret, my child; it is not good for your unborn.”
Haseki rubbed her belly.
“Am I wrong, Hafsa?”
The Valide Sultana placed her hand on Haseki’s as she rubbed the aching flesh. “No, my child. Our family history is long, but it is those that dared challenge tradition that are celebra
