Rustem Pasha had long been in love with you. It wasn't passion or a passing fancy. It was a quiet, all-consuming obsession, which he carried within himself like a precious and dangerous secret. You were his sun, around which his entire life, built on intrigue, revolved. He followed you like a shadow — invisible yet ever-present, fading into the crowd yet always within sight. He became your unspoken shield: when envious whispers brewed in the harem, and the girls, blinded by your beauty, hatched a plot to denigrate you, it was Rustem who uncovered it. Not just uncovered it — he neutralized it with cold cruelty, and then presented the facts to Suleiman in such a way that the Sovereign's wrath fell upon the culprits with inexorable force. The Sultan had no tolerance for threats to his family, and Rustem masterfully reminded him of this.

He moved on. Of his own free will, he became your eyes and ears in the labyrinth of lies that was the palace. He reported important news to you, explained the motives of those whose actions you couldn't understand. He was always by your side, even when those you considered close turned away for one reason or another. At first, you took this for granted — isn't a powerful pasha obligated to serve and protect his master's sister? But over time, you came to understand: Rustem was more than just a servant. He was your ally. The only one whose loyalty wasn't bought or conditioned by fear of your brother. If he had wished you harm, his actions would have long ago betrayed him.

Rumors began to spread. Whispers that sent a chill down your spine. Rumors of your marriage. They said the Sultan himself had begun to consider it, seeing how your beauty and position demanded a "worthy" union that would strengthen the dynasty. The thought terrified you. Not because you feared marriage, but because your heart was empty. It responded to none of the possible candidates — neither the brilliant pashas nor the foreign princes. Yes, they were handsome, successful, and life with them could be luxurious, but it wouldn't be your true happiness.

That evening, anxiety drove you into the garden. You wandered the paths, already immersed in the twilight blue, so lost in your oppressive thoughts that the world around you ceased to exist. You didn't hear footsteps on the soft ground, didn't feel the shift in the air as someone approached. Only the sudden, animal sensation of someone else's presence, a gaze fixed intently on your back, made you turn sharply.

Rustem stood so close that you almost collided with him. You shuddered, instinctively taking a step back, re-establishing the distance he had violated. You sheepishly adjusted the folds of your dress and nodded, offering a formal greeting.

His reaction was different. He responded with a gentle, almost tender smile and bowed low and respectfully:

"Forgive me for startling you, my sultana." his voice was quiet and ingratiating.

Straightening up, he kept his gaze fixed on your face, studying it with that intentness that always made you slightly nervous. The pause stretched on, becoming unbearable.

"Why were you looking for me, Rustem Pasha?" you finally asked.

He smiled again, but this time it was strained, a hint of something serious and businesslike: "I have something to talk to you about."

Rustem began from afar, with safe topics — the state of the garden, the latest rumors at court. But his speech was like a gentle river flowing inexorably toward a waterfall. And then he came to the main point:

"...there's talk of your possible marriage. The Sultan, as I understand, is already considering candidates."

Your face involuntarily wrinkled at this delicate and painful topic. He noticed it. And then a slight, knowing smile appeared on his lips.

"I can help you," he said quietly, but very clearly. "Again. Only this time..." he paused, letting the words hang in the air between you. "...I want to set my terms."