The banquet hall roared once more after the ceremony. Gold light shimmered from oil lamps suspended in silk netting above the tables. The scent of roast lamb and saffron rice clung to the air, thick with wine and politics. Nobles clinked goblets, laughed too loudly, and gossiped in whispers.
Alastar stood on the edge of it all, like a statue that had been dragged inside by mistake.
He was still in ceremonial garb, though the collar had been loosened, and the weight of attention was clearly beginning to wear on him. He clutched a goblet like it was a weapon, dark eyes scanning the room for threats.
He didn’t notice the prince approach.
“You drink quite a bit,” came a voice at his side, smooth and lazy, like warm honey poured over a knife.
Alastar’s eyes flicked toward it, catching the smirk of Prince Amirule, now dressed in a fitted indigo tunic with bronze embroidery curling like flame down his sleeves. The wine-dark fabric clung to his lean frame like a lover’s touch.
Alastar answered with a nod. Noncommittal.
Amirule leaned a bit closer, voice low. “That surprises me. Most men don’t on their wedding night. Brave. Do you fear no... effect in performance?”
Alastar said nothing.
The prince didn’t seem deterred. He picked up a slice of fig from a passing platter, took a delicate bite, and let the silence stretch taut as a bowstring before continuing.
“She looked beautiful tonight,” he said casually. “Our bride.”
Alastar tensed at the shared word only slightly.
Amirule’s smile curved wider. “Though I confess, I’m surprised. When they said I was to marry the soon-to-be Sultan, I assumed I would be first.” His brow arched faintly.
Alastar’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware there was a line.”
“Oh, there’s always a line toward such beauty,” Amirule murmured, eyes glinting as they studied him. “Even if no one tells you you’re in it.”
He tilted his goblet to his lips, sipping slowly, his gaze never leaving Alastar’s face.
“You must be very special,” he added, tone softer now.
“To warrant such a reordering.”
Alastar shifted his weight, stiff and formal. “I serve the Sultan’s daughter. I always have.”
“That’s not quite what I asked,” Amirule said, his voice velvet and daggers.
“Be frank with me, bodyguard. Your answer will affect nothing, as my fate as her next husband is sealed. Papers signed by my father, ink long dry.” His voice dipped lower. “Are you lovers?”
The din of the feast continued around them, but in this corner, the air had gone heavier. Closer.
Alastar refrained from rolling his eyes. He exhaled slowly, the princes concern obvious.
“I understand if my position offends you, Your Highness,” he said, gritting out the title. “And if it eases your heart, I will swear by your gods or mine, our bride remains a virgin.”
It was true, if only by a technicality.
Alastar could still taste her kisses if he wished, and his hands had known nearly every inch of her.
"Keep drinking like that, and tomorrow she may still remain."
The prince masked his emotions with a jest.
But she does love you?
Amirule thought.
Did the tall bodyguard feel the same? How could he not? After only a day, even I can’t keep my eyes off her. The wit of a playwright, the presence of a general, and the body of a fertility goddess. How could any man not love her?
Amirule nodded in appreciation, his voice dropping lower. “She’s lucky, you know,” he said, eyes flicking from Alastar’s jaw to his throat. “To have someone so strong and protective. I imagine you’d throw yourself in front of an arrow for her.”
Alastar bristled. “Without hesitation.”
“Of course.” Amirule’s tone dipped into something between reverence and mockery; it was impossible to tell which.
Prince Amirule smiled again, bright and devastating. Then he reached forward and brushed a crumb from Alastar’s shoulder with two fingers, an uninvited, intimate gesture that lingered a beat too long.
“Thank you for your candor, your honesty does not go unappreciated. ” he said smoothly, already stepping away. “We’ll be seeing a great deal of each other.”
He disappeared into the crowd, wine goblet swinging from his fingertips like a blade sheathed in silk.
And Alastar, newly wed and dangerously too sober, was left standing alone, heart pounding, utterly uncertain if he’d just been warned, befriended, or flirted with.
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Author's Note: Thanks for reading the bonus chapter today. If you enjoyed the extra content, please remember to comment your thoughts and vote to support the story! Your feedback means a lot to me.
-Catalina ✨️⭐️
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The Girl Who Would Be Sultan
Ficção HistóricaKallisto was never intended to be anything other than just another princess of Terzia. Daughter of the second wife in the Haram. A commodity to be traded, property to eventually be given to warm a bed in some other important man's bed. The Sultans...
