The Girl Who Would Be Sultan

Chapter 6: Liquid Pain

Alastar continued to drown in his bottle as the days passed, and both the sessions and Kallistos skill grew with intensity. The flickering candlelight cast an enchanting glow upon the delicate fabric of the curtain, the dancing flames tracing the silhouettes of Kallisto and Alastar. 

Their breaths mingled in the air, a symphony of anticipation as they stood close, their eyes locked on one another.  "Are you ready?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as excitement fluttered within her, seeking his consent as she always did, a polite formality despite the fact that they both had no real say in the matter. Alastar hesitated, his eyes clouded with conflict, as they always did. He swallowed hard, then nodded, his fingers trembling as he reached for Kallisto's face. Her skin was like velvet beneath his touch, but he couldn't fully savor it. Instead, he conjured the image of his late wife, Desdemona, superimposing her memory onto Kallisto's features as a balm for the guilt gnawing at him. "Forgive me, my love," he thought, his words echoing within the chambers of his mind. Their lips met tentatively, a brush of sensation that sent shivers down Kallisto's spine. She pressed further, her body responding to the pull of desire that swirled between them once again. Alastar's grip on her cheek tightened, the kiss deepening, as if he were seeking solace in her embrace. 

 Kallisto tasted the bittersweet tang of Alastar's grief, mixed with the warmth of his loyalty and devotion. She inhaled the scent of his skin - a blend of earth, leather, and the faint traces of the wonderful sandalwood soap he used to bathe so frequently in.  "Good," the priestess encouraged, her voice echoing through the chamber like the caress of a summer breeze. "Now, the tongue girl, I swear if you forget again...." Alastar felt the princess hesitate in his arms at the priestesses strange order. What on earth could the old woman mean? Kallisto moved her hands from behind his neck to grip his shoulders instead, a move signifying her power over the situation which he couldn't deny. His fantasy was snapped away when the young girl did something his wife had never, parting his mouth with hers, she pushed  her tongue inside. 

 Alastar's thoughts spiraled, entwining Desdemona's memory with Kallisto's touch. He felt the ghostly tendrils of his wife's embrace, mingling with the current of Kallisto's tongue as she delved into his mouth. His heart ached with longing for the past, while simultaneously yearning for the newfound thrill that Kallisto offered. He couldn't respond, frozen under her touch while simoultaiosly overwhelmed by it. The lines between love, loss, and desire blurred, leaving him adrift in an ocean of confusion. She did her best to remain unfazed, the threat of the priestess's wrath was more than motivating. She pushed forward, softening her body to his and seeking out his own tongue. Slowly he understood and though his illusion had been shattered, he dutifully began to return her endeavors. It was new, exotic, and much to what he knew would be his later dismay, quite pleasurable.  Her tongue danced with Alastar's in an unfamiliar yet ardent manner. A shiver raced down his spine, the sensation both shocking and undeniably pleasurable. His heart thundered in his chest, guilt, and desire warring within him. She tasted of sweet wine, a much meeker liquor than he had of late become accustomed to, but no less intoxicating. Thrilled with a new confidence, she trailed a line of hot kisses down his jaw, each one rougher and with more intent than the last. Mind armed with one to many lessons of male pressure points, she sank her mouth down on the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

Alastar groaned in pleasure audibly and for the first time in many months. It was the sweetest song she had ever heard. Feeling such a large, formidable man shuddering in her grip was the ultimate power, and in that momemet, so many of the prietsses seemingly ridiculous and pointless lectures suddenly made sense, in fact this entire training endevour suddenly gained an incredible worth, His caramel skin tasted salty sweet, and she made an effort to commit it to memory. 

In an act that was more instinct than anything else he, pulled her mouth from his neck, and kissed her hard, he then bit her lip, drawing it slowly with his teeth, enticing a deep, throaty moan from the princess. A sound that brought him back to his senses, it was so strange and animalistic, so unlike the soft and sweet noises of his late wife. He pulled away roughly, and they stared at each other, both wide-eyed and breathless.

 "Enough for today," the priestess declared, satisfied, her voice cutting through their connection like a sharpened blade. The spell was broken, yet the echoes of their shared experience lingered in the charged air around them. "Thank you, Priestess," Kallisto whispered, her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. As she turned to leave, her eyes met Alastar's once more, and she felt the familiar tug of desire swell within her. Alastar remained behind, his mind reeling from the intensity of their encounter and the new love bites he now wore on his neck.

Days turned into weeks, and their training sessions continued in earnest. Alastar found himself increasingly tormented by the conflicting emotions that Kallisto evoked in him. Each kiss, touch, or caress ignited a fire that he struggled to contain, fearing it would consume him if left unchecked. It was during these quiet moments of reflection that he wrestled most fervently with his feelings. Standing guard outside Kallisto's chambers one night, Alastar's thoughts raced as he recalled the sensation of her body pressed against his own earlier that day. A chance encounter in the hallway when she had accidentally brushed against him had left him reeling, his heart pounding and his breath ragged. He tried to rationalize his arousal, attributing it to the lingering memories of Desdemona that Kallisto seemed to awaken within him. "Desdemona... I miss you so much," Alastar whispered into the darkness. His inner turmoil continued to swell, threatening to overwhelm him. 

 "Alastar?" Kallisto's voice cut through his thoughts like a ray of sunshine piercing the clouds, peeking her head out of the door.   "Is everything alright?"  "Everything is fine, kiddo," Alastar responded, his emotions quickly retreating behind an impenetrable wall of stoicism. The mask he wore as her bodyguard and protecter provided him with a semblance of control in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.  "Alright," Kallisto replied hesitantly, hiding her slight pain at his use of that childhood pet name.  Still now, did he see her as nothing more than that little girl? She paused for a moment before adding, "Goodnight, Alastar."  "Goodnight, Princess." As the door to her chamber closed softly, Alastar's thoughts once again turned inward. The memory of Desdemona's laughter echoed in his ears, mingling with the sound of Kallisto's voice. The two women had become intertwined within his heart, their presence both a source of comfort and anguish.  

"Focus, Alastar," he muttered under his breath, his voice edged with frustration. "She's not Desdemona. She's just... a child." But even as he repeated these words like a mantra, the undeniable truth was that he had begun to anticipate their next lesson with an eagerness that frightened him. The soft accidental brush of her fingers against his as they passed in the hallway earlier in the day ignited a fire within his body that he hadn't felt since his teen years."Damn it," he whispered harshly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. "What is happening to me?" He tried to reason with himself, to justify the roiling storm of emotions that threatened to drown him. He told himself it was just the grief, the lingering ache of losing Desdemona, clouding his judgment and making him yearn for something – anything – to fill the void she had left behind." Must I miss her so much that am I using my innocent friend as a way to remember what it feels like to be alive?" He thought to himself. And so, Alastar continued to stand guard outside her door, a silent sentinel torn between duty and chasing a ghost of desire.

The amber liquid swirled in its glass like a tempestuous sea, reflecting the dim light of the tavern and casting golden shadows on the worn wooden table. Alastar stared into the depths of his drink, swirling it absentmindedly as he sought refuge from his tumultuous thoughts. With each sip, the burn of the whiskey provided momentary comfort, igniting a warmth that spread through his chest and numbed his ever-present guilt. "Another round, Alastar?" The barkeeps  gruff voice broke through the haze, pulling him back to reality.  "Obviously." Alastar replied, his voice rougher than he intended. He pushed his empty glass towards the man, who expertly refilled it with practiced ease.
"Been seeing you here a lot lately, I thought things were getting better?" the barkeep remarked, wiping down a nearby counter. "I'm fine," Alastar muttered, taking a long swig of his fresh drink. Conversation was the last thing he desired; what he needed was solace in the bottom of a bottle – or perhaps several bottles.  he stared into the depths of his drink once more, feeling the familiar tug of guilt pulling at his heartstrings. "Forgive me, Desdemona," he thought, taking another sip of his drink. "I can't let go," 

Back at his post, his heart was torn between the yearning for her touch, which always took away his pain,  and the crushing weight of his guilt. The door remained closed, an impassable barrier that separated them, a reminder of the gulf that lay between them.
"Forgive me," he murmured, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the door. 
"Both of you, please forgive me."

In the depths of his heart, he still remained utterly oblivious to the growing physical attraction to his childhood friend.