CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The victories of war trod forward through the summer weeks and months of blood and the incessant booming of the Mehter war drums. Louis’ own garrisons withdrew further into the heart of Hungary. Villages and hamlets eagerly capitulated to the Scarlet Mantle, thankful to be free from the tyranny of the young Hapsburg-puppet.
When the howling winds of a second winter blustered into the side of his pavilion, Suleyman rested on his divan and reread a well-read letter he had received from Haseki.
My heart breaks in my separation from you.
No poets or romantics could put into words my desire and my sadness.
I wish only that the words that separated us be destroyed....
Suleyman sat thoughtfully and reached for another of his beloved’s letters.
... My heart is pierced by
