CONQUEROR| MAGNIFICENT CENTURY|

CHAPTER 56

Three days later, Neslihan remained steadfast by Suleiman's door when the hurried sound of footsteps reached her ears. She turned to find Sultan Mahmoud walking briskly towards her, still dressed in his riding attire.

"Neslihan," Mahmoud greeted with genuine concern, his eyes searching hers for answers.

"Mahmoud," Neslihan's strong facade finally crumbled as he approached, and she fell into his arms. Her tears, held back for days, finally spilled over.

"What happened? What is the matter with Suleiman?" Mahmoud asked anxiously, holding Neslihan close, attempting to provide solace.

"He has tuberculosis, Mahmoud," Neslihan responded, pulling away to look up at him. "He does not know; he thinks it's a common cold," she explained, her voice tinged with sorrow as she tried to compose herself.

"How? How did this happen?" Mahmoud inquired, his gaze shifting between Neslihan and the door that separated him from Suleiman.

"No one knows. He started coughing blood around two months ago, but he did not want to inform us," Neslihan explained, her words carrying the weight of both frustration and concern. The revelation hung heavily in the air, leaving the Mahmud couple to grapple with the unexpected turn of events that had befallen their family.

"Ya Allah," Mahmoud muttered, taking a deep, painful breath in. He approached the door, ready to open it, but before he could, the doors swung open on their own, revealing Nilüfer. Her hands were on her pregnant belly, tears in her eyes, which widened upon seeing the Sultan.

"Y-your Majesty," Nilüfer stuttered, her curtsy a mixture of respect and fear. Neslihan, caught off guard by Mahmoud's sudden appearance, froze momentarily, realizing that she had planned to keep Nilüfer hidden from him.

"What is this?" Mahmoud asked, turning slowly to face Neslihan, whose eyes were just as wide as Nilüfer's.

"M-Mahmoud, this is Nilüfer Hatun," Neslihan introduced, taking a deep breath to gather her courage.

"We will talk about this later," Mahmoud declared pointedly before stepping into Suleiman's room. The physicians awaited him, holding a cloth for him to cover his mouth and nose.

Neslihan, left with Nilüfer in the corridor, felt the weight of the unspoken tension between them. As Mahmoud entered the room, she could sense the impending conversation that would shape the course of events for the Mahmud family. The palace, once a haven, now echoed with the murmurings of secrets and the inevitability of confronting the consequences of choices made in the shadows.

"My son," Mahmoud said, stepping closer to the bed where Suleiman lay. Suleiman's eyes slowly opened to find his father by his bedside, and a tired yet genuine smile formed on his face.

"Baba," Suleiman tried to get up, but Mahmoud extended his hand to gently halt his son, knowing Suleiman likely lacked the strength to rise.

"I am so glad to see your blessed face, Babam," Suleiman whispered with a tired yet grateful grin.

"How are you feeling, son?" Mahmoud inquired, his paternal concern evident. He resisted the urge to reach down and touch Suleiman, mindful of the physicians' advice against it.

"Better than yesterday, Babam," Suleiman replied before succumbing to another bout of coughs, blood dribbling down his chin. Mahmoud couldn't help himself but pull his handkerchief from his sleeve, leaning down to tenderly wipe the blood away.

"May your hands be blessed, Babam. I can not feel my arms as much anymore to wipe my blood," Suleiman said with a small, appreciative smile. Mahmoud felt a pang of heartache at the sight of his once robust and lively son in such a weakened state.