The sun is about rise…The weather is foggy and cool…The gentle rain diffuses the mist…All of the velvet curtains of the saloon which are facing the courtyard are closed except one…Roksalena moved on the Iranian carpet on her mild feet and then slowly lodge into the sofa which is made by expensive texture. Then she knelt in front of a pearl table. She grasped the reed pen which she left a second ago. At that moment, a smile emerging from his lips in a whisper ‘ah’ blaze has spread around…She was getting ready to meet sun under the dim light of chyristal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. She dip her pen into the ink which give life to her work and start writing. “ the part of my heart, my Sultan! You are my re-wounded hearts balm. I would fly with the burnt offering one hundred thousand times that you are my heavens bud. Your concubines, although the happiness in the world, your helpless slaves that belogs to you!”.This beauty from Ukraine when she was sixteen was fitted for Prince Süleyman.She was so debonair than they called her Hürrem Sultan.She had an excellent education in the palace and with her wit and charm she soon became the favourite interest of Süleyman the magnificent… It was 1526… Hürrem enfold , kissed and hold the paper on her chest, at that moment two drop of tear fall from her eyes.She sent the letter with a white wing of a dove to her Sultan who is fighting in the field of Hungary. Sultan, this intelligent and ambitious, with the possibility to have ordered the century architect Sinan; Haseki like pearls in a complex, Roksalena Bath in the Blue rose.