Once Upon A Spring Night

Sultana

The next day, as the dawn faded and the morn entered, the sultana safely arrived from her excursion, bringing gifts from the hither-tithers of their allied kingdoms. Just like what she requested, there was no grandiose receive when she set foot again in her kingdom. No commotion and cheers disturbed the serene first light.

“Welcome back, ommi!” Arham greeted, giving his mother a warm embrace. “We miss you.”

“So am I, my son.” She replied.

“Ommi! Yasmeen ran, forgetting the fine-lady rules, and gave her mother the tightest embrace that even her brother got caught up in between.

“Let go Yami!” Arham struggled.

“No! It is your fault you did not make way.” She grumbled, all the while still grabbing onto her tight hug.

Queen Parvaneh giggled. “Oh, Yami. It may seem like a long time since we were apart, but I wish you would not forsake your gracefulness.”

“Sorry, ommi. I just longed to be with you.” The young princess buried her face in her mother’s arms.

Azlan stood still, watching from the corner, avoiding venting his emotions. The sultana smiled once she spotted him greatly, understanding his position.

“Well, here is the emir.” She addressed him, giving him her arms, and softly kissed his temples. “I do hope you did not pressure yourself, my son.” She mumbled.

“Ommi… Just doing the best I can.” Azlan hesitated.

“I am sure you did well. Anyways, let us call for a private and humble meal in my wing. I want to hear what my children have been up to.”

“A lot has happened, ommi.” Yasmeen assured while sneakily flashing a playful smirk.

The family had a warm morning meal at Queen Parvaneh’s suite. Unlike her children’s private rooms, hers was more welcoming, with the usual flora and fauna décor surrounding the entire space and even a small pond at the center. They all had a sincere conversation about how their routines went: from the younger ones’ studies to the military and their political duties.

Arham, naturally a very reserved prince, shared first with their mother. In good spirits, he told her about his warfare apprenticeship and training under his brother. Oh, how he adored the crowned prince, with his wisdom and strength on the battlefield and leadership.

Azlan wholeheartedly thanked his brother.

Yasmeen then followed with her tales. She was thrilled to share with the queen-mother about her studies. Somewhat, in the middle of it, the young princess told her about Primarosa, “The Christian princess is a lovely lady, ommi. I am sure you will adore her.” And because of that, Azlan did not approve of it. He argued with Yasmeen and reminded her that Princess Primarosa was their prisoner. Annoyed by his invasive sentiments, Yasmeen teased that Azlan may have had feelings for the princess—recalling the roses he had given to the so-called prisoner.

Arham and the queen-mother watched in astonishment as the two continued to break each other’s necks. Their pride could not be vanquished with a simple hush and tete-a-tete. They were like hyenas, wanting their glory to peak on the horizon. Azlan was reasonable, though inside was conflicting, while Yasmeen certainly sounded juvenile, yet true to everything.

“Ommi, perhaps we should stop them before they end up in an unfitting rage.” Arham calmly beseeched.

“Indeed, my son.” So, Queen Parvaneh tried to halt the intense quarrel between Azlan and Yasmeen, but it was to no avail.

Finding it an annoyance, Arham took it into his hands and broke up the argument. The two finally stopped and murmured no more words. The queen, afterward, cordially asked the second prince and the princess to retire, leaving Azlan behind.

The noontide came fast approaching as Queen Parvaneh gave some time for solitude to reign. An atmosphere of delicacy after a short rolling thunder. The tea was still warm as she took a sip. Calmness finally blanketed her.

Azlan became anxious as his patience ran dry. He then asked his mother while she took another drink. “Ommi,” He called, “What are we going to talk about?”

The queen looked at him; with her dessert eyes that leered sparkly. “I like to tell you, my dear, that I truly miss your father—every second of the hour and every hour of the day.” She gave a little laugh as she placed her cup on the table. “I remember those youthful years when I was still a princess, not knowing what to do with my life. Then suddenly, I got pushed through the scene of marriage to a man who saw me as plain. So there I was, standing in the court of people I did not know and facing him with his striking stare that sure frightened me. He looked at me like some damned creature.

As tradition dictates, I stayed with him—getting to know each other. But instead of a diplomatic approach, he was very distant and cold and often would call me out for making the simplest mistake. He was a tough one to understand. But I cannot say no to the agreement because I realized that learning to be a devoted, calm, and patient wife is my duty—the heaviest title I will carry compared to being queen. Before that, I had to go through his insults. And when our days of being acquainted were nearing their end, the then Prince Ismail finally bent on his knees and confessed that his childish actions to me were all just a mask to cover his true feelings. He told me of his fear of showing sensitivity, hence why he taunted me with his jests. Since we got married and until the day he left before to war, your father always placed a rose on my bedside.”

Bright golden rays from the window shined through, highlighting more of Azlan’s handsome features as he leaned on the wall with brows crossed, not knowing what to comprehend from her story. “That is quite a dear, ommi. But why are you—”

“Do not mind your mother, Azlan.” She said, beaming at him. “I only recalled the lovely days. Anyways, about your squabble with your sister.”

“Pay no heed to her. Yasmeen is still a child.” He furtively defended.

Without taking any notice, Queen Parvaneh studied her son’s demeanor and supposed that something was bothering him—or maybe someone. From her perspective, Azlan was ill at ease, treading back and forth. He even methodically reasoned why Princess Primarosa had remained a captive, dismissing her sister’s claims. The prince went on and on with his blabbering as sweat began to bead on his forehead and nose.

“I knew she was hiding something.” He said. “But she would not convey...!”

“I fear another war, my son. She is the princess of Cipreon.”

“Well, I will let uncle Tariq tell you that part of the story.”

The queen only listened. But then, exhaustion eventually got hold of her and bid his son adios. “Forgive me, my dear, but your mother is finally getting that long sleep. I want you to go to your room now. Rest easy and have a servant tell our lovely guest that I might visit her tonight.” Before withdrawing and closing the blinds, the queen sweetly said goodbye to him—to which he returned with a mousy simper.

As Azlan left his mother’s wing, he immediately ordered to have the servants to prepare Primarosa before the queen approached. He also noticed his domestics running all around that period. The smoke in the cookery was even more grey and visible. Colorful carpets were out and laid in an orderly manner—serving as vigor to what he now knew was a celebration arranged by the grand vizier for the sultana’s safe arrival.

“Ha! I pray that this tribute was no bore for us.” The crown prince pondered.