Once Upon A Spring Night

Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago… Somewhere in Andalusia, a legendary place that only a few remember, there stood two kingdoms of great power and majesty. Christians and Moors—an age-old rivalry. Two different embodiments of faith, yet both were equal in sovereignty. War and pride had been in their history. Neither one wanted to be on the losing side. Blood and chaos stained both hands for dominance. Somehow, despite their ancient conflict brewing from generation to generation, love took root and blossomed in the very rage of these two enemies. Two star-crossed lovers are unforeseen… A love story that even echoed in fair Verona for years to come… A Christian and a Moor—bridging the strife of their ancestors under the cloud of romance circling in Eros’ hands. And this very tale began on one fair Sunday afternoon… The house of Cipreon was busy preparing for the eventide’s great feast. Flowers of reds, whites, and pinks decorated the isle and every Corinthian colonnade where it circled them. Church bells rang in unison, signaling the end of the Holy mass and the start of the procession in honor of la Santa Virgen María. The people were in good spirits and deeply solemn. From his balcony, looking down, King Joaquin felt a certain peace seeing the calm procession. “Look at our people,” pointing out to the fellows, who looked like ants in a tranquil walk down below. “Peace—I hope, may dwell upon us again. May our prayers above be heard even more for us to win at last against our foes.” The king contemplated while his good wife came to him with a warm embrace. “Ah, my dear husband, it will. Our prayers will be heard but only at the time God intended.” She comforted him as her faintly lavender eyes twinkled at her beloved. The devoted king sighed and smiled at her. “Perhaps so, mi amor. Anyways, is Primarosa ready? Today is also a day for her.” “I will find out, my dear. You do know that our Prima is still a bambi at heart–a little dove still learning to fly with her head stuck on those fairytale books her grandmama gave her.” The gentle Queen Ines dallied as she headed out of the royal library. Indeed, she is but a child—all innocent and even so a little cherub-glow dwelling on her ivory face. In their late grandmama’s garden, there sat Princess Primarosa along with her two very young sisters, while reading stories aloud from her book. “…And they lived happily ever after.” She ended. “Oh, how I wished for a love story like that.” Said Margarita, the youngest, as she laid her head dreamily on her eldest sister’s lap. “Hush now Marga! You are too young for marriage, you little silly goose.” Remarked Florinda, the middle sister. “I say, it will be Primarosa first who should marry.” Primarosa giggled at her sister’s playful retorts. “Well, now you two,” she softly expressed to them, “I still have not found my true love yet. We all know... that someone who would lift you off your feet. Someone who would willingly cross mountains and seas for you.” She playfully sang as her sisters chuckled. “Well, true love cannot wait for an unprepared princess.” Their loving mama entered. “Lo siento mama.” Primarosa immediately composed herself and greeted her dear mother with kisses on the cheeks. The two youngest followed. “I lost track of time… I will go now and be ready.” “Go now mi amor. We do not want your natal day to be a dull one.” And there, the lovely princess ran, hurriedly making her way to her abode, and dolled herself up for the grand feast. That Sunday night was serene and beautiful. Because the darkest blue blanketed the heavens, the moon and stars were all in favor of the whole kingdom’s glee moment. Roses were everywhere, even more so on the altar where the Madonna and Holy Child were enthroned. The palace glittered with all of its marble and ivory ornates. The whole scenery was something to behold. The guests were all in their best suits as they all set out to make merry and enjoy every moment of the feast. Talk and talk the people went. In good spirits, everyone indulged that not a single sense that a few visitors they welcomed were already their enemies of a long time ago—the wolves were already in sheep’s skin mingling amongst them. Along with his loyal comrades, the crowned prince of the Moors, Prince Azlan, blended perfectly like a chameleon on the oasis. In masquerade, they also adorned so not one suspicion befell them. “Your highness,” One of his men whispered, “should we scatter around? There are a lot of guests here, and who knows how much information we could gather?” “Very well,” Prince Azlan agreed, “but remember to keep an eye on everything. Who knows what vultures could be suspecting us?” His men duly followed his commands while he keenly observed every move of each person that was near him. Big or small news about the question of attack by the Christians was important. Further, the Moor prince went on to the grand ballroom. He then spotted his enemy—the very man he deeply detests—King Joaquin, all jolly conversing with his men about something. “You will pay for what you have done, Joaquin!” He muttered in rage. With anger boiling in his veins, his thoughts became a blur. Slowly and surely, he walked across the room with a knife plucked out of its scabbard, ready to cut short the life of his worst rival. Prince Azlan was almost a foot away from the Christian king, but his madness halted when trumpets blew, and the palace jester entered, introducing Princess Primarosa to their guests. Light somehow illuminated as she came into the center. Men were in awe of her; ladies, to some, made a little gossip about some childish things about the princess just to cover their envy. From a burning fury to calm water, Prince Azlan himself could believe the beauty that he was facing. Princes and noblemen rushed just to see the princess up close. Even perhaps getting a notice from the Rose of the Christian kingdom. Yet through all those attentions, Princess Primarosa only longed to be in her quarters, in complete isolation, and devout herself in psalms and prayer. “My dear subjects, be at ease, for tonight is one glorious night not just for me, but for us.” King Joaquin began as he stood beside his daughter. “On this eve, our Lord and the Holy Mother have blessed us with the arrival of our beloved Primarosa, seventeen years ago. And tonight as well, I am pleased to announce the betrothal of the princess to Duke Gervasio. A man like him, with nobility and braveness in his name, is one perfect union that can bring a stronghold and victory for our kingdom!” Upon hearing the king’s statement, everyone rejoiced and gave the couple their good wishes and well intentions. The young and fair duke loved all the praises. His smile was dashing—one that could sweep every lady inside the ballroom. He then looked at the princess with eyes leaking with such coarse that it made her regret coming. More so when his hands snaked on her side and pulled her closer to him as if telling everyone the prize he now possessed. Princess Primarosa did not protest but could only stand and became cold as stone. Amongst the loud cheers and glories, the snooping Moors saw this announcement as a threat—a news worth telling for their sake. Somehow, other than the clear prospect of an upcoming war, Prince Azlan noticed the sadness sipping into the princess’ doe eyes—a plea to be away from the attention of everyone.