The tension between Kallisto and Alastar was intense, and the heat of the moment still coursed through both of them as they left the temple. Walking side by side on the way back to the palace, they both felt the heavy weight of the awkwardness between them. Neither of them knew what to say, afraid of crossing the line.

As they walked in silence, Kallisto couldn't help but replay the kiss in her mind, savoring every moment of it. She had never felt so alive, so connected to someone before, and it scared her. She also hated the fact that the joy in her heart probably mirrored the guilt in his from the very same thing.

Unlike the night before, not even a quick goodbye was murmured before she shut herself into her room.
He pulled out a larger and heavier flask than the night before from his bag and quickly downed it. Trying to drink away the apprehension of next week's trip to the temple.

More work was required of her preparing for her move to Akia.
Shortly she would be taking a Ship to her new island home to check on its progress and offer up any final design choices that she may want for her new palace, She spent most of her time inside the chambers with her father and brother setting up a new system of government and selecting new officials.
Though the colony was almost finished, it was time for several colonists to start moving over. It was quite difficult for her to find anyone who wished to rule under a woman, despite the promise of new
land homes built in the city at the royal's expense. Those somehow through some miracle she had changed the opinion of her father, and through some minor extent even her brother on the opinions they held towards the notion of a woman in power, The public would be an entirely different beast. 

3 days had passed since the incident.
They had not spoken anything other than formal pleasantries, and of those, the words could be counted on one hand.
Alastar awoke in his quarters with a pounding headache. Realizing that he must have left his post yet again to seek out the tavern, and somehow stumbled back to his bed in one piece.
Grumbling at the ache of his body and mind, he forced himself out of bed.
After slipping into his now less than pristine uniform, too nauseous to eat, he went straight for his post.
The Eunic guard at the door raised a questioning eyebrow at him. Alastar took a moment to be grateful the man was mute.
Alastar stood outside Kallisto's door, his mind consumed by a mixture of heartbreak, guilt, and duty. It had been 6 months. The weight of his wife's death still bore down on him heavily, and he struggled to find solace in anything except alcohol.

He missed Desdemona so much, and he knew his grief was blinding him, but his grief was all he had left.

And yet, as he stood guard outside her door, listening to the gentle murmur of her voice as she read aloud to herself from within, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was falling deeper into a trap of his own making. He knew that Kallisto was growing more skilled at the arts they were teaching her, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for some, mixed with an unfathomable discomfort for others.

For a moment, he considered stepping inside, speaking with Kallisto and perhaps finding some small comfort in her presence. But the bitterness and pain that boiled within him prevented him from taking that step. He knew that he was in no state to be around her, not when his emotions lay so close to the surface. She had enough on her plate as it was.

So, he remained outside the door, his eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the wood. He would do his duty, no matter the cost to himself. He would guard and protect Kallisto, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness. It was the only way he knew how to cope with the pain of his past, and the only way he could find any shred of meaning in his life.

Kallisto and Alastar found themselves in a small room in the temple, lit only by flickering candles placed carefully around the space. The week had passed, and they stood facing each other, really and truly, for the first time. Though he had practically never left her side,

The tension between them palpable. This would be the first time they had made eye contact all week. Since the last time they were in this very room, they hadn't had much other interaction.
She had arrived to her last combat practice to find his father standing there instead, the general stating that he would be handling the rest of her combat training from this point forward. She was crushed, for she had hoped time in the arena would bring them both some ease, some familiarity.

The set-up of the room was different now, Gone more the musicians and Priestess Vallarta had hung a curtain across the room, separating them from her direct view, but well able to see their illuminated silhouettes, giving the illusion of privacy.
With the impending trip to the temple, he had actually bathed and cleaned his uniform in an attempt to make himself look less like the absolute mess he had become. Fearing the wrath of the Gods while in ones home, if nothing else.

As Alastar stood in the brightly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on his muscular male form Kallisto couldn't help but focus on his appearance.

The candlelight illuminated his features in a soft glow, emphasizing the warmth of his rich, tanned skin and the strength of his jawline.
Despite the misery that now seemed permanently etched into his face, he retained a commanding presence that was impossible to ignore.

Kallisto found herself drawn to the complexity of his traits, his dark and stormy eyes which mirrored hers almost exactly in shade, how his rugged physicality was combined with an undercurrent of deep emotion. Even in the depths of his despair, he remained a formidable and attractive figure.

Alastar was a handsome man, tall and well muscled, but his care for himself had faded since the funeral.
The clean-shaven and polished military look he had once been known for had been replaced with a rough and unkempt appearance. His cheeks were stubbled, his hair disheveled, and his dark eyes carried a deep sense of anguish and regret.

She knew better than anyone that was struggling with a great sadness, unable to shake the weight of his past and the loss of his wife. He had turned to alcohol as a way to numb the ache, and it showed in his hollowed-out features and defeated look.

Kallisto couldn't help but be drawn to him, even in his darkest moments. There was a vulnerability to him now, a rawness that made him more relatable and sympathetic. She longed to heal his wounds, to bring him back to the man that he once was.

Kallisto could feel her heart racing as she moved closer to Alastar, her lips hungering for his. She was doing her best not to relish in her own pleasure at the expense of his grief, but it was so difficult when he was so close.
While he had spent the entire week dreading this moment, she had done nothing but secretly yearn for it.
"Do hurry up."
The impatient voice of a Vallarta wafted through from the other side of the curtain.
"And this time, try not to look so awkward.
Please, at least attempt to look like you are have not been just wasting my time and your father's money."
She continued.
The princess pulled her face into a practiced expression. Her eyes trained on him with an a sharp, smoldering stare. The bodyguard felt the heat of her gaze, and couldn't help but feel a little unnerved by the intensity of her focus. It was the same look as the time before, terrifying and enthralling at the same time.

Her black eyes were intense and heavy-lidded, with a hunger in them that seemingly betrayed her true intentions.
Arching her back just slightly, she brought her hands up and placed them around his neck.
Before slowly tracing them down his arms, invoking a path of goose bumps with every painstakingly slow inch.
As the silence stretched on, felt his resistance begin to slip, senses melting at her touch. 
Despite the nature of the situation, her touch brought him a small amount of comfort, as if she drew away the sharpest edges of the pain, her touch slowly sucking out the venom like the treating of a snake bite.
She stopped at his hands, taking them and pulling them behind her back to wrap them around her own waist.
She placed her arms back around his neck and stepped on her toes, hovering her lips just a breath away from his.

But this time, when she kissed him, Alastar felt the heaviness return. His mind was numb once again, consumed by his pain and grief.

He didn't stop Kallisto, he knew he couldn't, but he couldn't bring his body to respond in any meaningful way. His physical form was there, but his mind and heart were lost in a haze of it usual never-ending despair. She moved her mouth against his, doing her best to recall her previous lessons, but this was no more a kiss than throwing an enemy by his arm onto the ground was a handshake. It was an exercise, and nothing more. He watched her through open eyes, feeling as if his body were not his own. Detached.
Her mouth mashed to his in her best, inexperienced attempt. It was almost too awkward to bear, even through his current state of grief.

He knew he must do better, he had promised. So, he closed his eyes and prepared to do his duty, with a sigh, he imagined that it was his wife who was kissing him, that it was her warm body pressed so hopefully against his.
The scent of expensive jasmine faded into softer lavender, and he allowed his wife's scent to invade the tattered palace of his mind.

Thrilled at a reaction, and unaware that it was not at her expense, Kallisto leaned in close, pressing her body further to his.
Black hair turned into soft brown, cool toned olive skin faded to a soft tan. Desdemona's arms were around him once more.

As her kiss grew more intense, Alastar felt himself drift even away from the present, lost in a sea of brief, unexpected happiness.
It was euphoric.
He pulled her even closer, trapping her body between his arms and his armor.

For a brief moment, he was transported away from his pain, a passenger on a ship bound for happier shores. He let himself sink into the fantasy, letting Kallisto's movements carry him away.
The world around them faded into nothingness, leaving only the heat and intensity of the moment. Kallisto's lips were soft and warm against Alastar's, her breath hot and sweet on his skin.

The heat between them was palpable, like a The first kindlings of an eventual out of control wildfire. Kallisto felt every touch, every movement, sending ripples of pure pleasure through her skin.
The fire filled her body, blazing every nerve and sense with newfound hunger. She had never felt anything like it before, and it was instantly addictive.

As the kiss deepened, Kallisto's fingers tangled in Alastar's hair, pulling him closer, craving more of the intense sensations that coursed through her. His response was immediate, his passion matching hers with a feverish intensity that left her dizzy with longing. Their first kiss had been so experimental, almost medical. She had never known that passion could be this intense, this all-consuming.

Alastar's senses were running wild, his heart racing as a thousand long forgotten emotions coursed through him. Gone was the pain, replaced only by a growing need.
He pulled her even more impossibly close, until their bodies were pressed completely together, their hearts beating as one.

Their breathing quickened, the air around them growing hot and heavy.

Every touch, every movement, was warm and enthralling. He lost himself to his fantasy, letting the sensations engulf him completely.

As their lips finally parted, Alastar's heart was racing, his body trembling with desire. He looked into Kallisto's eyes, seeing her eyes still heavy lidded, and her lips swollen with his kiss. He blinked a few times, trying to remember where he was, and where his wife had gone. Remembering suddenly, Alastar felt the weight of his guilt and misery stealing everything back.

He pulled away from Kallistos embrace abruptly. Body a confusing combination of lust and guilt.