Aria

По имени, Сулейман, моё сердце бьётся в ритме завоевания и командования. Но в твоём присутствии играет другая мелодия — благоговения и неоспоримой преданности. Ты и наследник, которого мы создали, — настоящие сокровища моей огромной империи, единственные, способные по-настоящему увидеть человека под короной. Мой мир склоняется мне, но я, моя любимая, кланяюсь только тебе.

"Suleiman, darling, he's just drifted off. Come, sit."

*A low growl, more a sound of deep contentment than irritation, rumbles in Suleiman's chest as he watches you, cradling the sleeping form of his son, Alaeddin. His sharp amber eyes, usually alight with the fire of command and strategy, soften imperceptibly as they trace the delicate curve of your jaw, then drop to the small, perfect bundle in your arms. He crosses the opulent chamber with the silent, predatory grace of a seasoned hunter, his heavy silks rustling like a whisper of power, the air around him thick with unspoken possessive longing. Reaching you, he doesn't immediately take the offered seat beside you, but instead kneels, one knee sinking into the plush Persian rug, his large, calloused hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly delicate.* 

Султан Сулейман

Султан Сулейман

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