For the next two days, they did not talk about what had transpired inside her father's chambers. In fact, they hardly talked at all. Kallisto spent her mornings in lessons with her father, and her afternoons in the arena with her brother, under Alastars watchful eye and tutelage. He had been joined by his father, General Zhaas, so the usual tone of joking and playful banter during training was not there.
At night, Alastar posted himself outside her room, his bottle clutched tightly in his hand, sipping at it just enough to dull the pain.

The priestess wasted no time in scheduling her first lesson of the flesh.
As the midday sun painted itself across the sky, the bodyguard followed his charge reluctantly through the doors and into the temple of Cerys. With every step, the guilt and dread hammered itself into his heart. Desdemona had been dead for months, but this still felt like treachery.
His lungs burned and he did his best to steady his breath.
A set of shrine attendants greeted them and Alastar was told to follow one, and that the princess would join him shortly.

He was led to a grandiose bedchamber, one that could belong to no other than the high priestess herself. Pinks golds and oranges flooded the chamber in forks of silk canopies and expensive rugs. No less than a hundred black candles illuminated the room with even more dazzling sunrise hues.
The servant motioned for him to take a seat in one of the beautifully ornate chairs by the large canopied bed, and after he did, the veiled woman poured him a glass of Sweetwater before departing, leaving him alone with his anxiety.
Moments passed, and he reached for his flask, downing what was left of its already light contents before chasing the bitter taste from his breath with long gulps of his recently gained temple refreshment.

The doors opened and in walked the priestess. Behind her came Kallisto, and at her sight, the bodyguard nearly fell out of his seat. If it weren't for her kind but mischievous amber eyes, Alastar may not have recognized her.
Gone were her loose, comfortable cotton robes in muted colors, or her royal training uniform that was always at least two sizes two big; instead his childhood friend stood before him wearing little more than a bedlah, the top and bottom were made of blood-red, trimmed in gold silken rope, with her abdomen exposed, much like her shoulders, and most of her chest. Her golden brown skin gleamed in the candlelight, as did the ornate and heavily bejeweled accessories she wore. His eyes followed the trail of sparkling gold that hung right down to her clavicle. With his gaze already there, he took in the swell and size of her voluptuous breasts, the narrow of her waist, and the curve of her shapely hips which were on full display in the equally adorned, salvars pants she wore. Her hair draped loosely around her face, black and as radiant as night, so long it skimmed the small of her back.
He hadn’t seen her without her braids since she was 8.
Alastar felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.
In front of him stood a woman where, minutes ago, a half – grown girl had stood.

Kallisto felt her breath hitch. This was the first time he had looked at her, like actually looked at her with a full presence, since his wife had died. The pain he wore like a glove, the grim expression, the constant distant look in his eyes… in that moment it was all gone.

When did this happen?
It took everything in him not to shout at her to go put back on her regular clothes. Go back and bring out the real Kallisto, the smart, kind girl who was a dear and staunch friend, not this scantily clad temptress.
His blood raced, he was almost angry at her.
“You may close your mouth, soldier.”
The priestess spoke with a gleam in her eye, snapping Alastar out of his shock.
“My apologies, this…" He motioned to her outfit. “Is just quite…” He paused for a moment, trying to find the best word.
“...a lot.”

“Ah, my original problem with it was simply the opposite." She joked, smiling behind the veil that exposed only her eyes, easing the tension, but shyly crossing her arms across her exposed stomach.
"But you get used to it."
She said, forcing her arms to her side and her back-up straight before the priestess could chastise her with words at this point that she knew verbatim.

"Well, shall we get started?"
The priestess asked in an order disguised as a question.
"Before we do, I would just like to state that my soul isn't in agreement with this. I do not wish to be here of my own volition, and I would just like that known to you. My heart and body still remain faithful to my wife, and I do not know if I can ever be un-so."
He stated, gritting his teeth because while the Sultan could execute him on a whim, this priestess could not and If nothing else, he at least wanted his displeasure known.

She didn't flinch at his words in fact, they caused the old woman to smile.
"I would expect no less from you."
It came out like a compliment.
"Your fielty and honor is precisely why I choose you. You need not be afraid. You are simply fulfilling a duty to your kingdom. You both are." She continued.
"You are breaking no laws, nore rule of the gods, and your devotion to your deceased wife shall remain unscathed, fear not for your soul young man, if it makes you feel any better, I shall pray to Carys on your behalf."

Her words were oddly reassuring, yet simultaneously enforcing.
"Now let us begin."

She made them stand facing each other, and instructed a trembling Kallisto to gently touch his arms, so that the anxiety of contact with him may be broken. His familiar sandalwood scent invaded her senses.
This was easy enough, and trailing her fingers along the papyrus colored fabric of his sleeves; she couldn't help but enjoy the feel of his hard forearm muscles through the thin billowy cotton fabric. Alastar stood dutifully still, staring down at her and trying his damnest not to stare at her breasts. His attention to them did not feel sexual, at least he didn't think it did, instead it was more of a shock and awe, as if she'd pulled some kind of incredible magic trick.

Next instructed was his shoulders, hard and warm, he felt her long delicate fingers trail along his biceps, the whole thing felt almost scientific.
This wasn't so bad, they touched quite a lot in combat training, though it was never quite this long, or with such intent.
Next was his chest, and he felt a shiver run down his spine when her hand grazed his bare skin for the first time.
He inhaled her scent which was now mixed with the scent of desert flowers. He noted for a moment that her new perfume was, actually, quite pleasant.

"Now his face."
The priestess urged.
He saw her take a pause, she had never really touched his face before, not even in the ring. She had kissed his head once while consoling him over the loss of his wife, but that was it.
“It is alright.” He consented, trying his best to help a bad situation.
Her hand touched his face; it did not feel awkward at all. Her fingertips greeted his cheek like an old friend, and he may have even leaned into her touch just a little. For a moment, his pain, and discomfort left him, and he had a second of unexpected solace.

Her sturdy sandals slapped against the ornate stone as the priestess crossed the room and peeled back a section of curtains to reveal a small band of temple musicians hidden behind what should have been a wall.

“The silver cobra, please.”
She requested and a broad Eunic holding the Dumbek, the goblet shaped drum, nodded In understanding.
"Sit!" She ordered the general's son, pointing to a large, well-cushioned seat with a high backrest.
Biting back nerves, he met the slowness of the alcohol in his steps as he followed her command.
He lowered himself into the chair, and it enveloped his body like a hug.
Such comfort he had never felt, and he did not fight the urge to melt right into it.

Once seated, he saw the priestess was once again at the side of the princess. His ward was now staring nervously at a pair of finger symbols in the old woman's outstretched hand.
“You want me to dance? In presence of him?" She asked with wide eyes.
"As I have said time and time anew, true power over a man is that you must own his mind long before he ever owns your body."
Chastised the priestess.
"Now come, come child, if you cannot dance in the face of your childhood companion, how do you ever expect to win over a stranger?"

Alastar felt his stomach churn at her words, and his anger flared at this imaginary husband. The idea of any man touching his princess made his blood boil.
The princess let out a sigh and received the cymbals with no further protest. Kallisto then positioned herself in the center of the room, while the priestess made her course to his chair to stand by it. Closing her eyes, the princess invoked her alter ego, "The Sultana". This identity, an older, more confident and sultry version of herself, had been encouraged by the priestess as a way to cope with the themes of adulthood. Slowly and hauntingly, the notes of the passionate melody began to fill the large chamber.

The performance by Kalisto initiated with a deliberate and captivating saunter onto the stage, accompanied by an ascending crescendo of music.
Alastar observed with a sense of apprehension as she commenced a seductive swaying of her hips, shoulders, and neck. This was a lagneía dance, he quickly realized with horror, heard of only in the bravest of brothels, meant to arouse passions and ardor.
Despite the temptation to stand up and shield her glistening, exposed body with the nearest curtain, he resisted and tried to remain composed under the piercing gaze of the priestess. An attendant brought him another drink, which he hastily consumed.
The music was so entrancing, and her fluid motions seemed to perfectly match the rhythm. He couldn't help but feel his intrigued rise to match his discomfort.
Her crimson-colored, flowing wardrobe glistened from the illuminating candlelight, along with intricate jewelry and embellishments accentuating her physique. Though her veil hid most of her face, the rest of her attire did little to match. Despite his better judgment, and perhaps and the urging of the alcohol in his system, his eyes did begin to wander; following as her arms and hands traced the beautiful contours and shapes of her body. For a flash. Just a moment, he found himself looking at her as if she were a stranger. The shine of her skin, the way her hair shadowed her movements in a dance of its own, the swell of her thighs, the way her breasts bounced with every big movement. The fluidity and sensuality of her dance were as intoxicating as he felt. She spun near him, stopping mere feet away, just close enough for him to catch a faint whiff of what he guessed to be a very expensive perfume. Her eyes locked to his for the first time since she started her training, and Kallisto felt the Sultana take full control.
At that moment she did not feel awkward, or like a great pretender, at that moment she experienced a type of power that she knew would quickly turn into an addiction. 
In that moment she and the Sultana were closer than ever.
She rolled her shoulders before slowly tracing a hand down her neck and collar bone, down towards her clavicle.
His chest tightened, and the air became scarce in his lungs.

It was when the priestess saw the hair on Alastars arms stand straight up, despite his stoic expression, she raised her hand and closed it to a fist, bringing the music and the dance to an abrupt halt.

"That'll do for now."
She said through a small, cunning smile.