Chapter 55
As Hurem had said, Suleiman had been handling the sultan’s affairs for the past two months.
It was the same successor training method that Hurem herself had undergone before inheriting the throne from the former sultan — gradually and secretly developing administrative skill without drawing attention.
However, unlike Hurem, who had once known almost nothing about politics and had required years of tutelage, Suleiman, who had studied statecraft since childhood, was quick to learn.
Hurem, who was more shrewd than affectionate, piled tasks upon tasks before him — perhaps to test the limits of her son’s capability.
She had essentially told him, “Handle it however you can.”
Thus, Suleiman found himself unable to view his mother entirely in a favorable light.
With his brows furrowed tightly, he suppressed the rising heat in his chest and finally spoke.
“I’m not sure what this is about, but please make it quick. I need to return early.”
“I’ve heard that you work like a madman during the day so you can get off early in the evening. Is Ishtar really that important to you?”
The bluntness of her words caught him off guard, and he couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh.
Important?
They were not merely mother and son — they were the sultan and his heir.
Even if she was his mother, it wasn’t easy to admit to being infatuated with a mere woman.
Normally, he would have dismissed the notion coldly, telling her not to spout nonsense.
But this time, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
What he felt for her went far beyond simple fondness.
He wanted to protect her. To see only her smile.
Whenever she cried or appeared sad, it felt as though he would go mad.
Sometimes she was like a gluttonous kitten — foolishly obsessed with food and oddly fond of his chest and arms.
And yet, even those things made her unbearably endearing.
If she were ever to look at another man with warmth in her eyes… he felt he could strangle that man without hesitation.
This emotion, so wild and irrational, could never be summed up with the word “like.”
“Saying I like her would be far too shallow a description.”
The firmness in his face had wiped away every trace of a smile. His expression was grave — almost solemn.
“I treasure her,” he said, looking straight into Hurem’s eyes. “More than anything in this world.”
A heavy silence filled the room. It was so quiet that even breathing could be heard.
After a long pause, Hurem spoke softly.
“Do you understand the weight of what you’re saying?”
“…I do.”
She slowly rose from the sofa and gazed at the red embers flickering in the fireplace.
“No. You don’t, not yet. You have no idea how heavy those words truly are.”
The reflection of the fire danced in her eyes, then faded.
The faint, bitter smile that curved her lips hinted at the hardships she had endured through the years.
“If you truly treasure her, help her grow strong enough to stand on her own. If you cage her because she’s beautiful, that is not love — nor is it a good relationship.”
“I am more than capable of protecting a woman I love.”
“Foolish boy. If you truly mean to ascend to the throne, abandon the illusion that you can completely protect anyone.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
For a moment, only the soft rattle of the window in the cold night breeze disturbed the silence.
“Show her the wider world,” Hurem murmured. “Give her wings to fly. And if she stays by your side even when she is free to go anywhere — then, and only then, will you truly be together.”
“But she is a special being,” he protested. “If she were to step outside carelessly, she could be in danger.”
“Even so, she cannot stay trapped in the palace forever. You’ll see, in time — that kind of love cannot last.”
Suleiman frowned faintly and looked up at his mother.
Hurem was still astonishingly beautiful — almost ageless — yet even she could not escape the passage of time.
The faint wrinkles around her eyes weighed heavily on his heart.
She had once entered the palace believing in love, dreaming of an ordinary woman’s happiness. But the fierce storms of politics had stripped those dreams away.
After his father’s death, Hurem became not just his mother, but the Sultan — ruler of the empire.
She had always held him to the highest standard, restraining herself from showing favoritism or maternal affection.
It was rare — almost unprecedented — for her to offer him such personal advice.
He realized then that she truly cared for Ishtar.
If she saw the girl only as a pawn or a sacrifice for the Sultan, she would never have spoken this way.
“That’s enough for tonight,” she said quietly. “I’ll stop the nagging here. You should rest as well.”
“…Yes, Mother.”
He rose, turned silently, and left the study.
Hurem, left alone in the dimly lit room, stared into the fire — its orange glow dancing against the walls — and slowly closed her eyes.
Suleiman returned to his chambers late that evening, his thoughts tangled and heavy.
As soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by a small white cat — Ishtar — who bounded toward him.
“Nya-nyang! Nyao~!”
He didn’t know what her cheerful cries meant, but the gleam in her bright eyes and the way she rubbed her fluffy fur against him made it clear that she was happy to see him.
“…I’m home, Ishtar.”
“Nya~!”
What is she saying? he wondered. Probably something like ‘I missed you!’ or ‘You’re late today!’
Even these little imaginings had become one of his greatest joys lately.
And that wasn’t all.
This adorable kitten had an audacious charm about her.
When he changed clothes, she’d pretend to cover her eyes with her paws — but peek through the gaps between her claws.
And when she slept, she always wanted to curl up directly against his bare skin.
That, he suspected, was simply a kitten’s instinct to seek warmth — yet it was so precious it nearly drove him insane.
At first, he’d told himself it was just because she was small and cute.
But that wasn’t it.
No matter what form she took, she was the woman he held dearest in his heart. And when she slept in his arms, there was no stopping the pounding of his chest.
“Can we talk for a moment, Ishtar?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he asked gently. The fluffy white cat tilted her head adorably.
When she gave a soft “Nya~” of assent, Suleiman carefully lifted her into his arms.
So warm.
Her softness and warmth seeped into his skin, melting away the day’s exhaustion.
“Nyao? Miyao?”
Sensing something unusual, she perked up her ears and meowed with concern.
“You’re asking if something’s wrong?”
“Nyaang.”
She nodded vigorously, confirming his guess.
He was about to say nothing’s wrong, but then hesitated.
What if I told her I was troubled — how would she react?
He wondered how she would respond — especially if she were in her human form.
Though they had lived together for quite some time, their shared moments were few.
Suleiman rarely took time off, and even when he did, he was usually preoccupied with state matters.
Their only quiet moments together were late at night — when she was a cat — or early in the mornings.
He’d been trying lately to come home earlier just to see her more, but they still hadn’t truly talked.
“Actually,” he began, “I’ve been a little troubled lately.”
“Nya~?”
‘What is it?’ her tone seemed to say.
Tonight… I want to see her human form, he thought.
Perhaps it was because he had finally confessed his feelings to Hurem earlier. Once voiced, those feelings burned hotter, impossible to contain.
He wanted to kiss those small pink lips — to bring her back to her human self — and hold her close.
To tell her he loved her, to ask her to stay by his side.
But Hurem’s words echoed in his mind:
Let her choose her own path. Only then will it be real.
That advice cooled the feverish pulse of his thoughts — if only slightly.
Unaware of his turmoil, Ishtar blinked her jewel-bright eyes and waited patiently for him to continue.
She looked so charming — almost infuriatingly so — that he decided to tease her a little.
“Ishtar, I don’t really have many people I can talk to about these things. Sometimes I wish I had someone to confide in.”
“Miyao~?”
The cat flailed her little paws and made exaggerated gestures — as if imitating someone.
Realizing who she meant, Suleiman frowned slightly.
“Ibrahim? He’s a loyal officer, but not exactly someone for personal talk.”
“Nyaang…”
Her eyes softened, as if she were saying, ‘So you really have no one?’
He smiled faintly, seizing the opportunity.
“That’s why,” he said, “I was hoping you could be my companion tonight. To talk with me — right now, if possible.”
