Once Upon a Spring Night

Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago… Somewhere in Andalusia, in 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 on 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 deep solemn. From his balcony, looking down, King Joaquin was feeling a certain peace seeing the calm procession that was happening. “Look at our people,” pointing out to the fellows down below who were looking like ants in a tranquil walk. “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 faint 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 she is still a bambi at heart. A little dove still learning to fly with her head stuck on those fairytale books her grandmama gave to her.” The gentle Queen Ines dallied as she headed her way 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 she sat 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 and 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 and hurriedly made 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 in favor with 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 very good spirits, everyone indulged, that truly, 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 in 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 to him, “should we scatter around? There are a lot of people here and who knows how many conversations we can have?” “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 very important. Further, the Moor prince went on to the grand ballroom, he then spotted his enemy—the very man he deeply detests—King Joaquin, with his men, all jolly conversing 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 intents. The young 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. Even 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. “Vamos, vamos! La jota todos!” The queen gleefully announced as the court minstrels began to play their instruments. Everyone joined and danced to their hearts' content. Every twirl of the ladies was like those santilmos of the forest. In masks, as all faces are adorned, their smiles do go beyond spreading a favorable aura throughout the whole room. The Moors too went along with the lively jig, having to find a hospitable partner of their own. They went clapping, twirling, and cackling as the baile continued. Princess Primarosa, however, could only sham a cheeky grin at her betrothed duke as he lowly told her unfavorable compliments, saying, “Well my sweetheart, when you become my wife—it will be a bonanza worth parading and for sure will make other females bow down to you.” How the princess loathed him deeply. How she longed to tell her papa not to pursue the alliance, but she felt trapped. The princess’ thoughts lingered in a haze without noticing that she was now dancing with someone new—a very complete stranger. Well, in reality, it was only the eavesdropping Moor prince. “What was with those deep thoughts, señorita ?” “Huh?” Short-lived her daydreaming minute when an unfamiliar person conveyed. “Sorry señor. I—nothing.” She stuttered. “I see. I would like to extend my good wishes to you, señorita, for your natal day and your engagement.” The masked Azlan said. “Muchas gracias.” Primarosa plainly replied. Looking closer at her face, truly there was a downhearted look painted on those features. But behind those feels of blue, the Christian princess was indeed a beauty. An angel on earth as dubbed by some—the epitome of Venus. With hair of fiery gold, much like the afternoon heavens; skin white like the ivory statues with hints of blush signifying life and her concealed dreamy soul; lips plumping in red as it matched those eyes of hers to which it certainly could make anyone lose its quintessence of life. Those lilac hues—those Alexandrian romances which he thought only belonged to those buried fables. Feet could not find pause as they dance, even if they wanted to. Yet all of a sudden, while the music went on, beating as if Bacchus had arrived from Olympus, the laughter, the cheers, and every click-click of the shoes became a loud noise to Princess Primarosa. Her refined palms had gone sweaty, her eyes became shadowy, and her dear heart could not stop pounding strangely. Cool air also became a bit in recession at that second. “Excuse me señor. ” She dozily told him, clearly struggling to catch some breath. To the garden the princess went, a haven in times of struggle. Tears promptly rolled down her cheeks, her mind slowly losing sight of reality—light and dark fought profusely while she sat on a little bench to at least have her lungs take those sweet fresh air. It was supposed to be a happy night, yet tongues only curled because of the engagement her papa imparted. The engagement she dreaded and pleaded not to happen. Duke Gervasio was truly a handsome fellow. Admired and no doubt everyone’s favor, but behind those smoldering and charming words he uttered, it was a very ambitious and cold man that Primarosa saw. Even recalling murmurs of him being a rake; trouble and a scandal shadowed by those blessed features. Somehow, despite her begging not to be married to him, King Joaquin only sees what he saw in the duke—a noble one, the perfect fit for his daughter. The night when he called her and told her that he had already made up his decision on the betrothal—was the night her heart sank. Tried and tried she did to object, but the king refused such an order and only saw the princess’ action as disrespectful and spiteful. He reprimanded her. Hurtful words that cut deep were said, and the damsel in distress did not leap to say more to her papa. If dreams exist, so thus nightmares… and hers was coming to alight in becoming the prideful Gervasio’s bride. “Oh, why must I marry him?” The poor princess cried. “Dry those eyes, señorita. ” Prince Azlan softly offered, as well as handling her his pañuelo. Primarosa was flabbergasted to see him. The Moor prince almost laughed seeing her adorable surprised face. Remembering the disguise he was in, he then composed himself. “I… I did not mean to follow you. It is just that you seem so lonely. I hope you are alright.” He excused. The princess paused, looking at him with more surprise, the crimson hue slowly appeared on her cheeks. Because no one had ever dared to ask her how she felt. Not like a soldier on guard, but truly charming, it was of him to have a sincere concern knowing both of them were strangers to each other. The usual thing is, that people gave her compliments, even at times expecting to receive something in return. “No worries señor. I… Well, thank you for your concern.” She said as she offered him a seat beside her—to which he accepted. “I do not mean to pry, my dear gentleman, but you are still a stranger to me. May I know how is señor to be addressed?” “No!” Azlan snapped, completely alarmed by her question. The princess felt guilty thinking that she was slightly bold in asking him his name. Awkwardly, she implored him for forgiveness and let silence be an aid to an incoming fiddly mood. Yet guilt did not only blanket her. Azlan also felt the same culpable feeling as he cautiously gazed at her. To compromise, the prince took off his mask and collectedly introduced himself with a false moniker. “Do not fret, dear señorita . I am called Jorge.” “Jorge…” Familiarizing little note and tone as she repeated his name. “Please to meet you, Jorge!” Gladly beaming a smile at him. The two then went on conversing throughout the night. Azlan was learning more about the princess, especially what she loves and why she loves it. A jewel-like as what he thought. But not one word was outdated about the hearsay of their attack. Carefully trying to purge a little information from her—Primarosa only gave him more about her dreams and her endearing love for music and gardening. Oh, how he loved to listen to more of her tales and her little giggles whenever he said something quite silly, yet his mind reminded him of the pledge he vowed in avenging his father. Even so, like every other zealous gentleman that flushed whenever an eligible maiden expressed some tenderness at them, for sure one’s motivation hazed in fervent pleasure. A toast of pity for Princess Primarosa knowing fully that he is a man of the opposite end who wanted her father gone—the thought panged Prince Azlan. Forbidding to be deeply haunted by that thought, he shook off the loads in his head and pushed to pursue what needed to be done. The night had already deepened as stars twinkled in haste. The Moor prince did not get what he needed but only knew, somehow, of the loveliest things. Who could have thought that among the ruthless adversaries he had fought, rose a delicate sweetheart? The princess and the prince paused inside the garden’s pavilion after their walk. Primarosa continued to talk and talk, sharing with him some of the stories her grandparents used to tell her and her sisters. As her head spun in her colorful world, she did not realize that Azlan’s attention was already enthralled by her cheeky smile—muddling everything around him. He was already lost on his track; a weakling, indeed, once became Eros’ victim. His eyes lingered on hers with every feature pinned to his mind. Her eyes, face, and form, are stuck in his thoughts. The scent of her may now be a beguiling nuisance, perhaps to visit him with rapture on its hands. Cursed to her and her beauty, for the stouthearted man of hours before now struggling to keep one’s knees as inch by inch their distance was closing. “Get away now Azlan!” He silently bawled. Yet when crickets made a presence and, hearing his men approaching with their concerns and worries ringing on the little scene, in leaps and bounds, he gave in and planted a kiss in that cherry-tinted mouth of hers. Astounded and jumbled, Primarosa could not even comprehend for a moment what just happened. “Dios mio!” Her mind could only tell. “Meet me tomorrow, outside the gates, in the meadows where a lone algarroba tree stood. I want to see you again when the clock strikes at noon.” Azlan told her as he kissed her again and left, only to see her numb as she waved goodbye. He could not believe what he had done. What a fool he was to have kissed someone he should have scorned and made to bend on one’s knees for pity—a namby-pamby he had become. Once he and his band retired for the night where they camped in the thick greenery of the outside grassland, a heavy burden was growing inside of him with the awareness that his wisdom was now hanging on a balance. “I’ll make sure I will gain the upper hand!” He muttered under his distress. In her room, as everyone in the palace welcomed the slumbering thoughts, Primarosa still could not fathom what ‘Jorge’ had done. Truly, her thoughts were in a daze as she cupped her cheeks, shying away the red glow that was still on her face. But the kiss was magical—a moment like that was something quite similar to those fairytales she read. The princess giggled and could not hide the fact that she was already feeling butterflies in her stomach. His smile, whenever he listened to her, was soothing. His beautiful olive skin, his chiseled face, that dark wavy hair she promptly wished she could curl on her fingers, and those bright hazel eyes sure had settled greatly in her mind. But then it dawned on her… “Dios santo! It would be a scandal!” her mouth flat-out, reminded with the certainty that Jorge was still a perfect stranger. Was he a count? A duke as well? Or maybe a simple merchant perhaps? No matter what, the princess’ young heart could not stop beating uncannily as she thought of him and the second their lips touched. “But oh, dear God on the heavens, it was a delight! Forgive me if I have been easy tonight knowing Jorge is someone I just met, but did you see him? Did you see his face eagerly listening to me? None ever dare do that. I know for sure that everyone who only sees my mind is still a naïve lamb, but there he was, a gentleman who genuinely listened. Dear God, was he the one?” She was awed, fleeting away her thoughts and feelings already down in the hands of love. She would be bothered if one could know their little rendezvous, but none could ever blame her girlish heart when a knight readily opened his hands to a damsel. Even into the wee hours of the plum sky, her smile was still visible cheek to cheek; the blush still never failed to fade and her spirit soared as she slowly closed her eyes, whispering one last thought to God, “Oh dear God, please do soften papa’s heart. Let him know that I cannot marry Gervasio. I may now have someone worth being my dear one. And with that, may the Blessed Mother be my guiding light. Amen.” And with one, two, three sheep more, the fair princess finally fell to a good night’s rest.