Once Upon A Spring Night

Rhodopa

“Will this be alright?” Primarosa asked Yasmeen as she showed her her flower arrangement.

“That is perfect, hermana.” She complimented her while her hands busily arranged her own set of flowers.

The rosy afternoon was gentle as the soft winds blew on their skin. After Princess Yasmeen’s studies, Princess Yasmeen rushed to visit Primarosa. And there she was again, stealing the keys from her bustling brother, Arham.

The two ladies were leisurely arranging fresh flowers on vases while they told tales together. The young princess then eagerly shared with Primarosa what she had learned from her studies, “Have you heard about the story of Hades and Persephone, hermana? My tutor was teaching me about mythologies.”

“Well, yes, I do. I have that story in one of my books.” She replied, carefully removing the thorns from the roses.

“I do not quite understand it.”

“Oh, you will soon understand, my dear. Sometimes, stories need not be rushed just to be understood—much like how the author gave time to put his feelings and thoughts into writing.” Primarosa tenderly remarked while placing a rose on Yasmeen’s ear.

“Perhaps so. I will try to reread it.” The Moor princess elatedly returned as hands continued to frolic on the flowers.

Dusk came, and Yasmeen returned to her wing, leaving Primarosa again in boredom, sulking away her thoughts about how many more days she would be kept in a foreign kingdom. Time became heavy, but staring at those freshly arranged buds painted a smile on her lovely face. She then began to hum a lullaby. Her thoughts wandered, not until she remembered the last hour’s conversation about myths and books—she now longed to be in her library once more— lost in the world of fairyland and the ancient eras.

“I miss my books. I miss even telling stories to my sisters.” She wistfully mused.

Unanticipatedly, there were little stirring sounds of jiggling keys, signifying that someone was outside. The princess stood up from her bed as anxiety suddenly filled her spirit.

Azlan entered the room with two servants that followed. One was handling a platter of food, and the other, balancing a rug and cushions in his two hands. Primarosa watched the whole strange ordeal of servants keenly arranging the objects in a very orderly manner—showcasing a display of the usual Moor table setting. Her mind shifted to the likelihood of another interrogation from their emir. Somehow, the looks of it were comfortable–the complete irony of t*****e.

The carpet was a marvel. Shades of lilac, green, and cerulean danced all over the weave, complimenting the patterns of florals and peacocks. The cushions were also a match. Sitting on it might turn out to be some kind of insult. Observing the food, presentably placed at the center of the small round table, was unlike those served in Cipreon. The scent sure did tingle some savory senses.

“Your Highness, we shall return with the tea and sweets.” A servant informed them before they left.

Silence…

Alone together with nothing to say. The aura was stubborn, weighed with little pride and questions. Primarosa, with her glittering amethyst orbs, eyed Azlan, thinking that this peculiar arrangement was just one of his tricks to persuade her. But the prince only looked at her in return.

The more he stared into those eyes of hers, his body weakened. His soul was screaming like a wounded soldier on a battlefield–fighting a matter of duty and morals–over wits and emotions.

“Well then…” Azlan uttered uneasily, breaking off the gawkiness as he found the strength to match her Alexandrian glare. “I am here to share the evening meal with you.”

Primarosa laughed at his inevitable shenanigan. She then composed herself and said, “Oh… how thoughtful. I hope the food was not laced with something.”

He was astounded, though keeping a stoic expression. “I should have no confidence if I tampered with the food.” He reasoned.

Thankfully, the princess finds his motive logical. Yet, she dared not move a muscle when he sat down and offered the space opposite him. Azlan could see her eyes lowered, not wanting to look anywhere else. Even an obvious stiff in her posture whether or not to give him some small faith. He somehow smirked at the sight of her feeling uncomfortable.

“Come now, princess, and have a seat.” He gestured again to the space in front of him.

The food was palatable, with its aromatic scent of herbs and spices lingering in the air. Its color, too, was a kaleidoscope.

“What do you call this?” Curiously honing on to the dish as she gracefully sat down.

“Paella.” The prince answered, handing a plate to her. “Here. Have this.”

She was reluctant but seeing him very pleased with the dish, she became confident. The first bite did make a memorable imprint as the flavor danced inside her mouth.

“This tastes good!” She heartily exclaimed.

Azlan felt elated, knowing she was pleased with their dinner. Her bambi gesture as she ate was something spellbinding. At seventeen years, she truly is a lady learning more about life. Primarosa continued to compliment every spoonful she shoved in her mouth. He replied with genuine gratitude.

The two servants re-emerged with a teapot and glittering goblets that sparkled when the burning fire of the lamp kissed its surface. Tea was then poured onto each crystal cup and served alongside the promised sweets.

The drink was sweet and complimented well with their dinner. The princess was in awe to have experienced such a culture in a little setting, even though she was not quite sure what his intention was.

The following short time was engulfed in stillness, as both indulged in their meal. After they had their tea, Azlan wheezed—opening up to her about why he had arranged a sudden dinner. “By the way, I set up this banquet with you because I am here to tell you that the Sultana, my mother, is coming home from her travel.” Primarosa listened to him, slowing down in finishing her dessert. “I would like to present you to her.”

She choked on her food and quizzically searched for some definite answer to him. Azlan unknowingly flushed, recalling the words he uttered.

“You want me to see your mother? Am I to be dragged again like a criminal?” She asked, only to receive a blank look from the prince. Primarosa even noticed the growing crimson on his cheeks and found it humorous. “I know why,” She started, showing a coquettish smile similar to the playful cherubs of heaven. “Perhaps you plan on taking me as your consort, do you?”

“What?” Azlan snapped from his short trance and laughed at her pun. “You? My consort? Only a simpleton would want to have you as a mate!”

It was a strike to her when he said his rebuff. A sting like an unwanted prick of the nettle plant, a burn that pains more in gushing waters—her happy spirit died down, remembering that she was only a child, a delicate flower to everyone. A humble darling, as she never said anything more to spark some squabble.

Azlan noted the change in her disposition. “Have I gravely offended her?” He thought.

The Christian princess hushed, staring down and fidgeting at the fabric of her vestido.

“Forget what I said. Uh… I want you to have this.” He reached inside his large pocket and took what looked like a small, slightly withered book. “Have this. This book is the hallmark of my childhood. Old Antochius, a good tutor of mine, gave this to me as a gift. May his soul now rest in eternal peace.” Primarosa anxiously took the book from his hand while he added, “I remember when we were talking in the gardens, you told me that you were fond of reading.”

“Oh, yes. I do miss some reading. Gracias, Your Majesty.”

The old booklet was filled with wonders—with emerald green on its cover, and every page was dwellings of drawn characters, flowers, as well as strange beasts that prances around to accommodate the chapters of the story. However, one particular illustration caught her attention. Occupying a whole page–there it was, a lovely lady, holding some freshly picked flowers, with birds dancing around her. Primarosa twinkled, admiring more of the drawing.

“Rhodopa.” She whispered.

“I love that story,” Azlan confessed while Primarosa’s attention was completely drawn to the booklet. “It was about a Greek slave who came to marry the Alexandrian king. Rhodopa was so naïve that higher-ranked servants would mock her. She endured all the tauntings from them, and because of her kind heart, the king fell madly in love with her.”

“That is quite adorable.”

“Not to mention how strong and unbendable the king is. Now, he bows down to her beauty: with skin fair like the sacred marble, those long golden locks, and more distinctly—those passionate amaranthine eyes of hers.”

She looked up at him. Eye to eye, both saw something unusual that they could not understand. No answer, not even a Gordian’s knot, to begin with. Yet, it was an undoubted occurrence in which both of their heartbeats battered in an unrhythmic pattern. Nevertheless, his eyes were still on hers, seeing the glimpse of ancient sincerity twinkling in those orbs. She, as well, got a hold of his genteel side.

A moment of pause as the Moor prince drew more of her charm. In constant denial, the daughter of his foe sure did lure him—a curse that gave him an unbeknownst heat and passion running all over.

“I—I never figured out that you are quite a romantic person.” Primarosa stumbled over her words.

He slyly grinned, teasing her as he said, “There are more things about me than just the person who took you away from home, princess. Rest now. At least be in better spirits once the Sultana arrives this morrow.”

The princess obliged and thanked him again for his gift. When he left, she filled the time reading the booklet until sleep came knocking at her while her hands still clutched the page where she had last read.

It was now the very dead of night, and Princess Primarosa was completely deep in her slumber. Even the commotion at her door was no menace. It was Azlan, paying another secret visit with a bundle of red roses in hand—seven, to be exact. He could no longer find a reason why he was making this rendezvous.

Trying with all of his might to shroud the growing desire for her—the forefathers from above must have felt displeased with him. Loyalty to the kingdom and faith quivered in his palms--gradually worn out as the Moor prince finally entered the point of no return. Feet dragged him closer to her—a betrayal somehow he never wanted to wallop. May his men forgive him for being such a feeble boy for her. No wonder why Eros raised a hackle to each folk at Mount Olympus. “If you can only hear the rumbles of our ancestors, señorita. But who cares now—I already lost my ground the moment I saw you that night.” Azlan mumbled as he lightly kissed her forehead–enough to feel her skin on his.

Before he left, satisfied to end the day knowing Primarosa was in a good snooze, he planted another peck on her cheek and smoothly placed the flowers on a vase beside the two occupied ones. He then retired to his wing.