CHAPTER SEVENTY
Davud held the heavily-embroidered caftan before him as Suleyman, n***d from the hamam, slipped his arms into its sleeves. The Itchoglan then kneeled, pulled the robe around the Sultan and tied the sash tight at the waist. He pressed his hands down the front lengths of the caftan to smooth out the folds—his touch lingering on the textile. Suleyman reached down and ran his hand over the smooth skin of the Itchoglan’s shaved head.
“Davud...,” he began.
Hyacinth walked from the tiled passage to stand in the vestibule of the Sultan’s suite
“What is it, Hyacinth?” Suleyman asked, as Davud rose and stepped back from the Sultan.
The Aga of the Black Eunuchs ignored the Itchoglan. He signed, “My lord, Haseki Hurrem awaits outside. She wishes to speak with you immediately.”
Su
