Once Upon A Spring Night

The Little Yardbird

As her nerves calmed down and her eyes went clear, Princess Primarosa realized she was no longer in the meadows where she remembered she had last stayed. “I am sure I was in the meadows. Oh yes, under the algarroba waiting for Jorge.” With his name uttered, it dawned on her, “Jorge… Jorge!” She eventually recalled that her newly acquainted friend was not some gentleman nor a merchant, which she initially thought, but a Moor. “Ugh! What a fool! Oh, what a fool’s heart this thing inside of me!” She cried out while she headed for the door, only to find out it was locked—heavily sealed as if she was some kind of a felon.

Primarosa screamed for help, but there was no answer from the other side—barely to have the bird song as compensation. Feeling despair, the princess shouted and shouted all over again, and still, there was no response. Without wasting more sanity, she sat on the ground and softly prayed for patience and for someone to come and rescue her. Twenty minutes went by, and at last, footsteps echoed as the sound slowly drew closer until it ended in front of the front door. The princess hurriedly bounced back on her feet and composed herself, waiting for the stranger to go inside.

The doors opened and revealed two Moor guards who greeted her, and straight away, grabbed her as one tied a sheet to cover her eyes. She had no idea where the men would take her… Yet at the end of the dim-lit hall lies a room where Azlan, his younger brother, Arham, and their uncle, the grand vizier Tariq, were waiting for her arrival.

“Your Highness,” One of the men knocked, “we already have the lady here.”

“Enter,” Prince Azlan commanded.

No mercy was given to the princess when the guards threw her to the ground and only addressed salutations to their rulers before leaving. The crowned prince then removed the covers from her eyes, and with no further pauses, he grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to stand up, and interrogated her with questions that needed urgent answers.

The princess was confused… But then she now understood as it was made clear the second time that Jorge, rather, Prince Azlan needed some knowledge about King Joaquin’s plans in attacking their kingdom. Yet, Primarosa knew nothing and replied with a ‘no’. But ‘no’ was never the answer the three men wanted to hear from her. His firm fingers tightened on her arms, leaving bruises in their wake. “I know you knew something, princess. Speak!” Aggressively, Azlan asked her again.

“I told you, I knew nothing of that sort! Please…!” Primarosa begged, feeling his grip growing tighter.

Annoyed and slowly losing his calm, Azlan began to raise a distinct authoritative tone at her, making his brother and his uncle in awe of this different side of him. “Let me tell you that a false tongue is a misconduct worthy of death in my kingdom.” He told her. “Now, tell us everything, princess.”

A bit frightened, her eyes widened–making those violet orbs more distinct. Primarosa thought deeply and somehow, never letting herself fall out of grace and be a fool in front of the three men. She raised her head, roughly showed resilience, and exclaimed, “Punishable? Do you know what you are saying, señor? You went to the celebration last night and introduced yourself with a false identity! And now you are telling me that a false tongue is punishable by death?”

“The act was necessary.” He reasoned. “We already had news that the Christian king was planning on attacking us despite the win he gained after killing my father.” His eyes gradually turned into a fury when he remembered that painful loss. “So, everything that had happened last night was a strategy—no more, no less. It was certainly working knowing we had over here, a puerile excuse of a princess.”

Those words of his, that knife-like tongue, sure did break her heart. Knowing the kiss was only an act, her fairytale moment had become a nightmare. Her eyes began to bawl, only for her to stare at the floor, fighting to at least have a little strength in her soul.

“Brother,” Prince Arham reached out to his brother and patted his shoulder as he suggested, “Better not to haste. Maybe the princess is still in a daze from the trip.”

Tariq, on the other hand, carefully observed the girl and found himself amused—especially when he looked at her face that reminded him of a malak: soft and gentle even on the brink of madness.

Azlan ordered again for his men to take Primarosa back to her quarters, leaving him, his brother, and his uncle with a shallow answer.

“What a fascinating creature,” Tariq jovially commented.

“What a waste of time,” Azlan retorted.

“Would it not cause a war?” Arham stated. Azlan stared at him, wanting to have more explanation of what he had just said. “Having the Christian princess here would spark a war again, wouldn’t it?” He continued.

“Dear boy, as a wise and learned man like me, I already know what to do when your brother told us everything.” Tariq gestured to his nephews, who sparked an interest, to gather around and heed everything he would tell them. “Princess Primarosa was betrothed to Duke Gervasio, as Azlan said, and as a sneaky man, I ordered a forged letter that simply stated a certain elopement that was happening.”

Azlan wondered. “What do you mean, uncle? Are you saying that—”

“Joaquin is a very doting father, and once he realized his daughter was missing, he will point a finger at us since, naturally, it would be reasonable that an aged-old rival would do such a thing.” He interjected as he smoked on his hookah. “So, I instantly planned an act and created an excuse for the princess’ absence—with a spy that I employed: I instructed him to place a letter to where the king could easily spot it. Once he knew of the said elopement of his daughter to a prince of his ally, the man could not blame us. War would soon rise between Joaquin and his neighbors—a man’s pride is dangerous, especially stained by his very own kin. Mind you that the spy might have already arrived a while ago… oh well, so much for caring about our foes.” The old man shoved off.

“Thank you, uncle.” Prince Azlan saluted, even though he had a certain feeling about his deed.

Tariq nodded and smiled, feeling quite a bit accomplished with his aid. Arham said nothing, only having the same protesting thoughts as his older brother.

Wanting to object, it was unredeemable now. Azlan thanked his uncle and his brother again and respectfully adjourned the meeting as he made his way to his suite. While strolling along the hauntingly quiet hallways of the castle, the Moor prince felt guilty, thinking he might be too stern to his captive.

“Am I too cruel?” He thought, trying to be at ease as he entered his chamber.

The prince changed to his night wardrobe and sat in front of his studies, thinking that his pastime could drown his unlooked-for concern for the Christian princess.

The lamp on his table burned down as time passed on. The ink steadily dried on his quill, waiting to touch the parchment that was in a still position on his table. No ideas were floating in his head that he could convey in writing. He knew he had to do something… but his head could not recall what. Yet then came an ethereal scene forming in his thoughts—the kiss he and the princess shared on that good eve. Her lips were soft to the touch, clearly devoid of manly caresses. His heart was beating swiftly, remembering that very moment. With her sparkling amethyst eyes and warm smile, indeed, there was no escape from her charm.

“Al’ama!” He deeply cursed, shoving away the annoyance that bothered him while his hand leaned on the table and madly rubbed his eyes. “I will probably say sorry to her. But why? She is my captive. The blood that ran down through her veins is of my enemy—enemy ever since the dawn of the dark ages.” Azlan was firm on his resolution. He immediately returned to his academics, only to be haunted again by the princess in the hours that came—even to the point that his ears were already hearing her singing. Primarosa’s voice was beautiful and soothing as it echoed along every nook and cranny of the castle. Azlan thought he was already losing his senses but completely admitted that he had gone weak hearing Primarosa’s lullaby.

Very lovely… truly it was as though he remembered such a tale of why singing at night was a bad omen. He could not recall anyway. Listening again to her voice, the hint of sadness accorded along with those sweetly faint tunes that made him feel even more guilty than before. With no further seconds, he finally decided to visit her.

As he grabbed his cloak, the singing ended.

Through the silent corridors, Prince Azlan again traversed as the moon, showing her greatness, illuminated through the large windows guiding him through the dark way.

The stillness of the isolated wing was a damn, understanding now why men went mad at this kind of condition. He prayed that Primarosa was alright. Steadily, when he opened the door, he found the princess sleeping by the window with her head resting over her crossed arms. She had duly cried herself to sleep as he noticed the dried tears on her face. The Moor prince felt pity. As he observed more, there were little to no amenities in her room—not a cover for the coldness of the nighttime, no pillows nor something for comfort, concluding that the bed’s purpose was only for temporary leisure.

“I am sorry, señorita.” He tenderly whispered to her. “Praying that at least a good rest will ease your worries,” Azlan added as he lifted Primarosa from the chair and carried her to the bed, where he gently lay her down.

Because there was nothing to keep her warm, the prince took off his cloak and covered the princess with it. Looking down at her, he could still see traces of sorrow painted on her face. The tears were there, erasing her once lively features that he remembered dearly from her birthday feast. Was she telling the truth? A question pondered in his thoughts while he continued to stare at her. He was not sure of the answer. Yet, deep within him, he was secretly praising her as she bravely showed him her willful side while he was trying to break her down. He kissed her forehead and prayed again for a peaceful night.

Before closing the door, he looked at her sleeping form once more, smiling at how beautiful she was. It then jogged onto his memory to never let weakness drag him—even if that weakness is some Venus reborn in the form of his captive princess.