Once Upon a Spring Night

Rhodopa

A dire shadow threatened the whole Christian kingdom. There was no life at all and seemingly that winter had gathered force and drew early on sister spring’s jolly days. King Joaquin was fuming on knowing that Primarosa was nowhere to be found. Even more of becoming a blazing lion, once her old tutor and faithful lady, Sor Agueda, found a letter placed in the lost princess’ studies in the palace library.

There were not many details written in it, except for the unforeseeable act that both broke and angered the king badly…

“I can no longer be on your wing, father. I have been keeping a secret long enough that I cannot bear to disgrace the coming matrimony you keyed. I have been in an affair with King Sandalius’ son. It is he, the prince, I die to marry.”

King Joaquin cursed as he crumpled the paper and threw it strongly to the ground. Queen Ines was roused from his exasperation and was perplexed to see him sitting on his throne, distressed.

“What is the matter, my king?” She asked, as his face had gone more sorrowful and the growing wails of the nuns who were there.

“It’s Prima.” He vacantly answered, not even having the strength to face her but only with a blurred gaze at nothingness.

The queen, who was holding back the tears in her eyes, saw the crumbled paper that was still unmoved on the floor and immediately grabbed it. “Santa Maria!” She expressed, once she read the letter.

Queen Ines froze, letting all the emotions take over her body. The nuns rushed to her side, noticing the dwindling feet that failed the monarch as she cried, “Oh, Primarosa! My Prima…”

Reaching out to his queen and bringing her to his side of the throne, King Joaquin leaned his chin on her head as his other arm was comforting her in a tight embrace. “How could she do this?” He subtly uttered, hiding away the trembling anger in his voice. “How can such a respectable comrade allow this hooligan act happened?”

When the pooling rage could no longer be resisted, the king smashed his fist on his throne and screamed in madness—even louder than those callings of war. Queen Ines consoled him and requested for the nuns to leave them. She hushed her king and pulled him down to her embrace.

“Joaquin, let us not make a commotion.” She said to him while trying to ease her own emotions. “I do not believe this, mi amor. What was said on the letter—I see no Prima on it. Not a soul or even a hint of sweetness written on it. Something tells me this is all just some hoax.”

The king stayed motionless in her arms. Perturbed with thoughts dimmer than the rippled waters, it began to weigh on his shoulders his duties for the kingdom: his daughter was missing and reports came recently of other missing citizens. He stiffened in his words as he looked at his wife and told her, “Primarosa was no burden to me—she was my first darling and the apple to her sisters’ eyes. There was no dull moment when her sun lighted the heavy room.” Letting go of her hold, King Joaquin straightened up on the throne and reported to her the other news, “I have been carrying such a heavy load,” His eyes gazed again from afar, “Two reasons, mi reina, one is of our daughter and the other half were reports I just received about new counts of missing citizens.” The queen was more staggered with what he just shared. King Joaquin then continued as he held Queen Ines’ hands between his, “I do not know why those misfortunes happened but I know that these tales of astray happened during the dead of the night—consistent with the cries of their families.”

“Dios santo…!” The queen flabbergasted.

“Yes. Most of the missing ones were women. Daughters of farmers and even of noble lords.” He sighed, completely subdued even on the good morrow.

Later that day, the worried king called a council and discussed promptly the problems that were piling up on their plates. Inside the royal hall was fuming with arguments and hypotheses about the issues. One suggested diplomacy while the other was in favor of raising arms against their neighboring kingdom.

“Your Majesty,” An old adviser addressed, “It seems like these circumstances have become oddly coincidental.”

King Joaquin finds his statement a puzzle. One brow raised and requested an elaboration. “Care to tell us what you mean, Señor

Domingo?”

“This is just my observation, Your Majesty… The number of lost subjects seemed to be growing in numbers, and after which, here comes the news of Princess Primarosa’s elopement with Prince Niccolò. Don’t you think this is some kind of treason?”

“King Sandalius is a comrade, even like a brother to me. I cannot comprehend the idea of him being guilty of treachery.” The king contemplated on his seat with his hands clasped together on the table. “With their crowned prince–I have not heard any news of Niccolò since.”

“Neither am I, Your Majesty. But I heard he was good with the ladies.” Domingo said. “The boy is very ambitious too and not quite like his father.”

Doubts ruptured the king’s thoughts, questioning more of the good tidings between him and King Sandalius. This bitter mood gradually seeped through and it molded into an angry bull expression, with brows frowning and heat firing up his nose. The men waited for him, trying to avoid unnecessary rage.

Despite much patience inside the room, hell still got loose when the door swung aggressively as Duke Gervasio entered. He was mad like Aries. “May God forbid all that was said… Your Majesty, my king, is it all true?” He hotly asked, showcasing the thinness of his composure.

“Calm your horses, señor

.” Alejandro, the king’s very old right hand, prompted.

“It cannot be done señor

Alejandro! Primarosa’s alleged elopement is a stain on my pride and a scandal to this kingdom!”

“And be it more to the king, who is her father, and to the kingdom of Delombre itself! An utmost ally, turning the other cheek with this act.”

“Pray that these rumors are just rumors, señor

.” The livid duke pointed to the ruler.

King Joaquin stared at the young man’s eyes and found an understanding with the increasing blaze in his veins. In no haste, he stood from his position and placed a consoling hand on Gervasio’s shoulder. “Forgive me my son, but the rumors were no rumors at all. I had received a note from Primarosa and said that she had run away to Sandalius’ place.”

“How dare she?” The duke's voice cracked in displeasure. “How dare they insult us like this? How dare they insult the kingdom?”

“Gervasio!” The king perked him up, trying to bring back his senses. “Listen to me. As her father, it raised me some doubts about its validity, but as a king, it alarmed me to the circumstances this can catapult! With all honesty, I am in complete jumble knowing that a number of my people also had gone missing recently.” Gervasio then became aware of his sensibility as the monarch continued, “Some men here speculated that both were part of some treacherous slander.”

“I see no lie in that perspective, Your Majesty. I have known Niccolò ever since we were just young boys from the academy. He was a nuisance. He was an overbearing person and I cannot see why he could easily woo some innocent damsel such as Primarosa.” Duke Gervasio was fully convinced and firmed his view. He even expressed to the king his favor with a war against the Delombre. Some agreed to this but some still chose to have a diplomatic exchange between the two kingdoms to maintain a strong allegiance.

Arguments came flying in the air one after another, becoming a pile of contradictions with conclusions leaning toward a lost cause. King Joaquin suspired heavily and only gave them a promise of his final decision by the next two days. Sorting through their councils and causes needed more time than just arguing about it in circles.

Leaving the assembly with a whirlwind of duties to solve, King Joaquin was still in shambles, longing to know if Primarosa was doing well.

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

“That is perfect, hermana.” She cheekily complimented her while her hands busily arranged the flowers.

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

The two ladies found leisure in arranging fresh flowers on vases while they told tales together. The young princess then eagerly shared with Primarosa what she 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 though.”

“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 read it again.” The Moor princess elatedly returned as hands continued to frolic on the flowers.

Dusk came and Yasmeen went back to her wing, leaving Primarosa again in boredom, sulking away her thoughts about how many more days she would be kept enclosed in a foreign kingdom. Time became heavy, but seeing those freshly arranged buds, a smile was then painted on that lovely face of hers as she 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. Even having storytelling with my sisters.” She wistfully mused.

Unanticipatedly, there were little stirring sounds of jiggling keys, signifying 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 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 common Moor table setting. Her mind shifted to the likelihood of another interrogation from their emir. Somehow, the looks of it were comfortable. Truly the total irony of t*****e.

The carpet that was laid first, 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 which was presentably placed at the center of the small round table, it was unlike what she had seen or even served in her kingdom. The scent sure did tingle some savory senses.

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

Silence…

Alone together with nothing to say. The aura was stubborn, weighed with little pride and questions. Primarosa, with her glittering amethyst orbs, was eyeing 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 morality, over wits and emotions.

“Well then…” Azlan uttered uneasily, breaking off the gawkiness and finding the strength to match that Alexandrian glare of hers. “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 that was 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 indeed 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 at first, but seeing him very pleased with the dish, she became confident. The first bite, indeed, made 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 is still truly a lady learning more about life. Primarosa continued to compliment every spoonful she shoved in her mouth. He replied with his 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 next short time was engulfed in stillness, as both indulged in what was left of their meal. After that, they had their tea and Azlan wheezed—opening up to her 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 be given a resumed blank look by 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. Truly 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 of his large pocket and took what looked like a small and slightly withered book. “Have this. This book is the hallmark of my childhood. Old Antochius, a good tutor of mine, gave it 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 prance 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 that was 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 the princess was fully 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 taunting and trials from them but because of her kind heart, the king fell madly in love with her.”

“That is adorable.”

“Not to mention how a strong and unbendable king, 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 the genteel side of his soul.

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 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 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 that, somehow, he never wanted to wallop. May his men forgive him for being such a feeble boy for her. No wonder why Eros rose 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 vacant vase beside the two occupied ones. He then retired to his wing.

The next day, soon 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 to be a long time since we were apart, but I do 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 out his emotions. The sultana smiled once she spotted him, understanding his position greatly.

“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 political duties they are obligated to do.

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

Azlan wholeheartedly thanked his brother.

Yasmeen then followed with her tales. Thrilled to share with the queen-mother about her studies. Somewhat, in the middle of her story, the young princess also 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, ironically, that Princess Primarosa was their prisoner. Annoyed by his invasive sentiments, Yasmeen teased that, in fact, 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. Yasmeen, somehow, flashed her razzed again. 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 and calmness finally blanketed her. Azlan, on the other hand, became anxious—not knowing what needed to be discussed.

His patience ran dry and Azlan slowly asked his mother as 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 then 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 was 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 came to realize that learning to be a devoted, calm, and forbearing wife is my duty—the heaviest title I will carry compared to being queen. Well, before that, I had to go through his insults. And when our days of getting to be acquainted were almost approaching the 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 always taunted me with his jests. Since we got married and until the day he left before going to war, there is always a rose placed on my bedside.”

Strong 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 am just recalling lovely things. 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 to where he was. 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 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 now to your room, rest easy, and tell an emissary to send word to our lovely guest that I might be visiting her tonight.” Before fully 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 called for the emissary and ordered to have the servants prepare Primarosa before the queen approached. He then 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.