The Girl Who Would Be Sultan

Chapter 8: The Declaration

The effect was instantaneous, shattering the illusion. Kallisto felt as if she'd been doused in ice-cold water, her heart constricting painfully around the jagged, foreign name.
"Alastar," she choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It is I, Kallisto..."

"Oh Gods.... Forgive me," he pleaded, his voice heavy with regret and sudden, searing sobriety. Panick and regret in his eyes, followed by guilt, confusion and shame as he snatched his hand from within her dress, and stumbled backwards towards the door, shutting it hard; leaving her alone in the dark in more ways than one.

Kallisto sank to her knees, her mind a whirlwind of agony. It wasn't a rejection of her, but the crushing realization that his grief was a devotion more powerful than any passion. The whiplash of such a physical intensity followed by such a devastating realization of his actions was too much. He was not with her in that moment, no he was with his wife.
He was utterly unavailable, a man wholly owned by his ghost and his bottled vice.

Her body reeked of the alcohol he had consumed. She doubted he would even remember this in the morning.
"Alastar," she whispered, her voice barely audible through her sobs.
"I cannot watch you drown as you watched her."

Kallisto barely slept. She'd spent the time cleaning the scent of cheap liquor and frantic, guilty desire from her skin, washing away the memory of his betrayal while solidifying her resolve. She dressed in heavy silks-not the light robes of a lover, but the stiff, ceremonial clothes of a Sultana.
She found Alastar waiting near her private entrance, leaning against a marble column, his face pale and drawn.

He pushed off the column the moment he saw her, his hands raised in a gesture of plea. "Kallisto, please. I know you don't want to hear it, but I must. I'm so sorry. I was drunk, I was vile, I dishonored..."
She didn't break her stride. She walked straight up to him. He kept talking, low and frantic, until she was close enough to execute her move.
As they reached the heavy brass doors, she lifted a single finger to her lips and pressed it hard. "Hush," she hissed, the word barely audible, a sound more deadly than a roar. Her eyes, fixed on the doors, were cold and clear-the eyes of a general focused only on the battle ahead.
Alastar's apology died in his throat. He swallowed hard, smoothing the front of his tunic and resigned himself to following the whirlwind that was about to drag him into a political storm.

The two royal guards in crimson and gold threw open the doors, and the air of the corridor was instantly replaced by the vast, echoing space of the Throne Room. The Sultan sat upon the throne, a figure of solid, uncompromising authority. He broke off his conversation as his daughter marched in.

"Kallisto," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "You are awake early. Is something the matter?"
Kallisto didn't bow. She stopped three paces from the steps leading up to the throne, Alastar standing awkwardly half a step behind her.

"Good morning, Father," she stated, her voice steady. "I apologize for the abruptness of this intrusion, but I have a matter of state to settle. A marriage."
The Sultan's eyebrows rose.
"A marriage? And who is the lucky, though clearly oblivious, prince whose envoys have arrived at this ungodly hour?"

Kallisto turned her head just enough to glance at Alastar, a swift, decisive motion. Alastar flinched.
"There are no envoys, Father," Kallisto said, turning back to face him. She pointed one finger directly at Alastar's chest. "I have selected the man from among our own ranks."
She took a deep breath, and then delivered the declaration.
"My first husband will be Alastar."
A stunned silence fell. The Sultan leaned forward slowly, a terrifying stillness taking the place of his earlier curiosity.
Alastar's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to protest-but no sound came out. The sheer, terrifying weight of Kallisto's political will pressed down on him.
The Sultan's mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "And why, pray tell, have you made this... singular choice?"
Kallisto held his gaze, her fierce energy meeting his quiet power. Her voice dropped, becoming razor-sharp and practical.
"Because, Father, I am to be Sultan of a sovereign island nation, and I will be surrounded by foreign powers and foreign alliances. I will be acquiring a great many consorts-princes and nobles whose loyalty will be bought with titles, land, and alliance. I require the first and most prominent of these husbands to be loyal to me and loyal to our people."
She then added the crucial, calculated point:
"It would be unfair to my future husbands to have a male guard near their consort who is not sworn to fidelity through marriage. Alastar has served as my personal guard since childhood. By making him my first consort, I provide him with a legitimate position in my inner circle, and I afford my future consorts the proper respect of knowing his constant proximity is sanctioned by ritual and by law."