The Girl Who Would Be Sultan

Chapter 7: Wine Problems

The scent of jasmine and orange blossoms, sweet and cloying, did little to soothe the tension in the throne room. Flickering torches cast long, restless shadows that seemed to mock the stillness of the air.

Kallisto stood beside her brother, Rahm, their gaze locked on their father, the Sultan, who strode before his golden throne. The weight of his impending words pressed down on them, heavier than the oppressive Terzia summer heat.

"My children," the Sultan began, his voice a deep, resonant rumble.
"I have news."
Kallisto’s breath hitched. A cold, unwelcome foreboding tightened her chest. She risked a glance at Rahm, whose brow was already furrowed in open defiance.

"Father, what is it?"
Rahm asked, his voice steady despite the tension that pulled his features taut. The Sultan stopped, his imposing figure framed by the throne. "You are to wed Prince Amirule of Eridanus. He shall arrive shortly before your coronation." His gaze, dark and unwavering, met Kallisto's.
Kallisto's mind didn't race; it froze. Confusion first, then a slow, building heat of betrayal. She forced her hands to remain open, palms flat at her sides.

"Respectfully, Father," she began, channeling every ounce of the composure he had ruthlessly drilled into her. "I was under the impression that as Sultan, I would choose my own husbands."
"And as Sultan, you shall—eventually," he answered, his tone flat. The Monarch made a conscious effort to address her like a future ruler, not his unruly, headstrong spawn.

"The fact remains you fight an uphill battle, my daughter. Our own people do not want a female on the throne. I have done nothing but quash rebellions and stifle protests since I announced your plans." He stared at her, that familiar expression on his face, the one that wished she were a son.
"If you go to that island without a powerful husband to pledge allegiance, you will die before you spend your first night," he stated, blunt and final.
Kallisto swallowed a gulp of dry air. The fear was instant, icy.
"Now, I promise that once you are Sultan, all other husbands will be yours to choose. But until then, you are still my daughter—my investment. I must protect it."
He saw the fire flash in her amber eyes and held up a hand before she could speak. "It is for your own good. Be grateful I use my connections with Eridanus, our most powerful allies. Their alliance will encourage others to marry their sons over to you."

She desperately wanted to argue, but the worst part was, he was right. And the frustrating sting of that truth tightened her throat.
"You should be even more grateful to your brother..." He continued, settling onto his throne and folding his hands, a small, knowing grin hiding beneath his thick mustache.
Kallisto looked over at Rahm, who only met her with a stare of genuine bewilderment.

"Why, pray tell, Father?"
Rahm asked, his gulp visible.
"It is a travesty to even consider sending a prince to wed into a harem, even a lowly seventh son like Amirule. Sultan Ughon only considered it when I offered for Azazel to marry one of his daughters as well. She will arrive along with her brother."
The words landed like a sledgehammer between them. Kallisto saw the instant, furious burn in Rahm's eyes.

"Father, it seems you’ve negotiated our marriages like a merchant bartering goods at the market,"
Rahm said, his tone razor-sharp. "How very buy-one-get-one-free."
His gaze turned to Kallisto, sharp with the force of a flung dagger.
"So happy you get to rule your sad little island off the sweat of my bedchambers." He failed to mask the violence of his irritation before he spun on his heel and stormed from the throne room without dismissal.

A week passed. The grand hall roiled with the sea of celebration—a cacophony of laughter and music drowning her out. Silk banners, woven with gold thread, swallowed the palace walls, draping her engagement to Prince Amirule in hollow glamour. Her coronation loomed two weeks out, and the weight of her expected future was a stone lodged beneath her ribs.
The warm glow of a thousand flickering lanterns bathed the courtyard in golden hues. Colorful silk banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, while the scent of sandalwood incense and exotic spices filled the air. Kallisto stood at the edge of the festivities, her eyes constantly tracking her father and the movement of the Sultan’s guards. The sea of vibrant colors and music only amplified the sharp, cold fear settling in her stomach.