Once Upon a Spring Night

Little Yardbird

The morning was ever bright as the sun reigned supreme in the heavens, blessing every inhabitant with his golden rays that drew life and color. The birds sweetly tweet on tree tops reminiscing of the church choirs that praise the grace of the Lord. There went the little rabbits too that hopped and trotted on their feet. And fully awake, the lovely Princess Primarosa was singing a love song as she ornated her hair with vibrant flowers.

“One, two, three… hmm, seemingly not enough. Four, five, six maybe? No, a seventh flower would be better—for my dear heart met him on the seventh day.” Primarosa sang.

She continued to sing when flowers finally circled her curly hair—looking like an Eden crowning her head. She sang again and again, on repeat with the same lyrics, not even noticing her two little sisters tip-toeing their way behind the ecru curtains. Little giggles like little mice interrupted her solo. Little squeaks and taps alarmed that even a busy cat could easily hear. As the princess looked behind the large curtains, there she saw Florinda and Margarita, tittering as they squealed in jest.

“Oh, what are you two little foxes doing here?” She asked, raising a brow at them.

“We heard a lovely song from that mouth of yours, hermana,” Florinda answered as she and the youngest one surrounded Primarosa with her vanity. “Was it some dashing prince that caused you to sing?”

“A prince? Is it true hermana?” Margarita added.

Primarosa giggled. “Not a dashing prince, mi amor. Well, I did meet a good friend last night.”

“I told you Florinda; she did meet a prince!” Margarita concluded gleefully.

The eldest princess laughed at how eager her sisters were. She then carefully explained to them that there was nothing more of it—an obvious lie—but a genuine newly acquainted friend. Of course, in her assurance, she veiled her first kiss so none, not even the walls, could know her secret.

Before the noon sun shone at its peak, the princess arrived in the meadows, sitting under the lone algarroba tree. All those sneaking and hiding under a merchant's cart were worth it, passing the kingdom’s unyielding guards of the gates.

She waited as minutes passed until her eyes heavied and no sooner, did she give in to Hypnos’ power.

“Señorita?” There was a call, “señorita?” There it was again. It was quite a nuisance, as she thought, but when her eyes slowly opened, there was ‘Jorge’ looking down at her.

“Jorge!” She happily greeted while trying to prim herself and stand gracefully. “It is so good to see you; I am very sorry I…” Her eyes glared when she noticed that her friend was weirdly wearing the typical robes of a Moor. “Wait, please do not say—” Without saying any word, Prince Azlan covered her mouth and nose with a cloth that was laced with a potion that can make one sleep in hours of forty-eight.

Once her pretty eyes were closed, Azlan carried her and gently mounted her body to his horse, seeing to it that she did not fall off in his arms as they journeyed. The temptation to look at her was an arduous task, especially because of the fact that he had a goddess-like creature taken as a captive.

“It was a shame that you are my enemy.” He muttered.

After a day and a half, the gallant Moors, at last, arrived back home. Immediately, as he stepped foot again on his castle, the prince called for an audience with his brother and uncle after he settled Primarosa in a secluded room in a very gloomy wing of the stronghold. When he laid her gently on a small bed, he blew into her ear and said, “Sleep well, señorita.” Then he left.

Dusk came and the nightingale’s song slowly faded. Everything was a blur when fever dreams were filling the frayed princess’ head.

A sparrow and an eagle were flying in the sky…

In hot pursuit with boiling blood burbling in its veins, the eagle was raging and vowing to kill the little sparrow once locked in its talons. Off to a seemingly grey sky, the two went on a chase that somehow felt like a hopeless limbo.

As the thunder clasped in great force, alas, the sparrow lost its strength and fell rapidly from the sky. It was an opportunity of winning, the eagle thought. So, he did what was needed and flew down to its fallen prey with talons all ready and sharp. Closer and closer, the distance between the two opponents had gone shorter. With another thunder rolling on the mad sky, the eagle, somewhat, gained favor as it trapped the piteous little bird on its hooks. Blood was spilling for sure together with the last pleading of the sparrow echoing everywhere…

Then Princess Primarosa jolted from her slumber, having a heavy chest that went ballistic in searching for air. “Dios mio!” She shakily exclaimed, trying to catch her breath.

As her nerves calmed down and her eyes went clear, she 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 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 were resonating as it slowly drew nearer until it ended exactly by the front door. The princess hurriedly bounced back on her feet and composed herself, waiting for the stranger to come inside.

The doors opened and revealed two Moor guards who greeted her, and straight away, grabbed her as one of them 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 interrogating her with questions that needed some 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 to know of King Joaquin’s plans for attacking their kingdom. Primarosa knew nothing and replied to him—but ‘no’ was never the answer the three men wanted to hear. His fingers tightened on her arms firmly, 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 hands grow tighter on his grip.

Annoyed, he was slowly losing his calmness and began to raise a distinct authoritative tone that even his brother and his uncle were in awe of it. “Let me tell you that a false tongue is a misconduct worthy of a punishment of death in our kingdom.” He told her. “Now, tell us everything, princess.”

Feeling a little fear inside, her eyes widened–making those violet orbs more distinct. Primarosa thought deeply, and somehow, never let herself fall out of grace and be a fool in front of the monarchs. He raised her head and roughly showed resilience to him as she said, “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 remembering that painful loss. “So, everything that had happened last night was a strategy—no more, no less. It was certainly working knowing we had here a puerile excuse of a princess.”

Those words of his, that knife-like tongue, sure did break her heart. Knowing the kiss was a fraud, her fairytale moment was only part of a nightmare she was now in. Her eyes were starting to bawl only for her to stare at the floor, fighting to at least find a little strength in her soul.

“Brother,” Prince Arham came forward from his seat. “Better not to haste. Maybe the princess is still in a daze from the trip.” His arms gently patted his brother’s broad shoulder as he suggested. Tariq, on the other hand, was carefully observing the girl and found himself amused—especially when he looked at her face, that which reminded him of a malak: soft and gentle even on the brink of madness.

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

“What a fascinating creature,” Tariq jovially commented.

“What a waste of time,” Azlan retorted.

“Would it not cause a war?” Arham stated. Azlan faced him, wanting more 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 reported to us everything.” Sparking an interest, Tariq gestured to his nephews to gather around and heed everything he would tell them. “Princess Primarosa was betrothed to the duke, as what Azlan said, and as a sneaky man, I ordered a forged letter that was simply stating of an elopement to a minor prince on the northeast.”

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

“Joaquin is a very doting father, and once he realizes his daughter is missing, he will point a finger at us. Naturally, 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 and now only matters to him 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 awhile ago… oh well, not much care about our foes anymore.” The old man shoved off.

“Thank you, uncle.” He saluted, though having a certain feeling about his deed.

Tariq nodded and smiled, feeling quite accomplished with his aid. Arham said nothing but only to be thinking the same thing as his older brother.

Wanting to object but finding it unredeemable now, Azlan thanked his uncle and his brother again and respectfully adjourned the meeting. On his way to his suite, Azlan felt a bit guilty, thinking that he might be too stern with his captive. The haunting quiet hallway made it even more difficult to stray away from his regret.

“Am I too cruel?” He thought, trying so hard 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 for the touch of 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 he could not recall what. Yet then came like an ethereal scene—the kiss both he and the princess shared on that good eve. His heart was beating swiftly as he remembered that very moment. With her sparkling amethyst eyes and her warm smile, there was no escape, indeed, from her charm.

“Al’ama!” He deeply cursed, shoving away the annoyance that bothered him while his hand, leaning on the table, 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 my enemy—enemy ever since the dawn of the dark ages.” Firmed on his resolution, he went back to his academics only to be haunted again by the princess—even to the point that his ears were already hearing her singing. A beautiful and soothing voice that echoed along every nook and cranny of the castle. Azlan thought that he was completely losing his senses, but he did admit 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 made him feel more guilty, and he finally decided to visit her.

As he grabbed his cloak, the singing ended. Through the silent corridors, he again traversed as the moon, showing her great luminance through the large windows, became his guide through the dark way.

The stillness of the isolated wing was a complete damn, coming into one’s thought, that men could easily go mad for this kind of condition. He prayed that Primarosa was alright. Steadily, Azlan opened the door, finding out that Princess Primarosa was sleeping by the window with her head resting over her crossed arms. She had duly cried herself to sleep, noticing 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 and the dullness erased her once lively features that he remembered dearly. Was she telling the truth? A question that rang in his thoughts while he continued to stare at her. He was not certain of the answer, but he did praise her, secretly, for showing her willful side to men 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 and jogged in his memory the need to never let weakness drag him—even if that certain weakness is some Venus reborn in the form of his captive princess.

The dawn dwindled, welcoming the fine morn. Golden light gleamed through the open window, bringing with it new life and days ahead of spring. There was no dream as Primarosa slumbered, however, there was a little bit of despair lifted once she opened her eyes and heard the sparrows greet her with their alluring tweets.

“Buenos dias!” She sang back at them, despite the lingering somber she still felt.

The Christian princess looked again at her surroundings, confirming that the quarters were indeed intended for no border. By fair means, the colorful patterns that ornate the walls were the only life in such a dreary place.

“No water nor cloth to at least clean me,” She complained, “Oh Dios mio, I am a yardbird!” Wailed defeatedly as she callously sat on the single chair. In despair, she watched the vibrant scene from the outside, hoping that perhaps in a minute or two she could go home and forget what had happened—but that is all easier said than done, especially when the world you were born in deals with power and sovereignty.

Hours later, the princess heard a faint knock on the door. She was second guessing whether to answer it or not—but the knocking continued, forcing her to do the prior. As she acknowledged, she was astounded by the unlocking of the door and the unexpected visitor who burst into her quarters, unpacking goodies of pillows, a cover, and a dress that she wrapped in brown linen. Like a stone, Primarosa stood still eyeing the female whom she deemed young—a little older than her sister Florinda, and very lovely, noticing the gracefulness in her movements.

“Hola…” Deeply bewildered, Primarosa welcomed cutting the air of stillness that tried to envelop her.

The young lady turned to face her, revealing a very sunny smile and familiar hazel eyes as she took off her satin veil. “Hola!” She greeted her back and added, “It is so nice to meet you!”

“Oh… Well, nice to meet you, too!” Primarosa curtsied regardless of feeling faltered.

“Ya ilahi! You are beautiful!” the young maiden squealed as she came nearer and softly squished her cheeks.

Primarosa could feel the crimson heat growing on her face, feeling appreciative of the young girl’s compliment. She beamed at her friendly visitor and shyly replied, “Gracias. You are so kind and seemed so approachable, señorita. Oh, where are my manners? My name is Primarosa.”

The young girl curtsied and also introduced herself to her, “I am Yasmeen. I am the crowned prince’s youngest sister.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness!” The captive princess cordially bowed, realizing her mistake in greeting her fellow royale.

“No need to be formal. I know little details about you, princess.” The young princess Yasmeen informed. “Brother Arham told me about what had happened… and on behalf of my brothers, I am sorry.” There was sincerity in her voice that Primarosa noticed. Her eyes twinkled in regret for a misdeed she had not even done.

Primarosa understood her quite dearly. “There is nothing to apologize my dear. Though I must tell you that I do feel betrayed by Jor—I mean by your brother,” Forgetting Azlan’s real name, “But never fret, for I have nothing against you.” She then reassured.

The Moor princess embraced her and thanked her for understanding. She returned the doting gesture and was moved to tears, all of a sudden, for she reminded her of her little sisters. Tears began to flood her eyes, grasping the reality of the caged emotions she had kept inside.

Princess Yasmeen guided her to her bed and sat her down as she told her, “Oh, do not cry, Princess.” Comforting her while she brushed her hair. “I am here. If you need a friend, I am always open. You know, I am also quite lonely here. My mami is not here because she is on an excursion, and I cannot even talk to my brothers because of their duties! I am stuck with my tutors and their boring debates about religion, politics, and philosophy. I have no leisure, sadly.”

Indeed, there was loneliness in Yasmeen’s eyes when Primarosa looked at her. She understood such feelings, notably that Florinda and Margarita were also experiencing the same whirlwind of emotions. She, too, had once been an adventurous child who wanted to see more of the world, not just through books and discussions with her tutors, but more so in facing it. She patted the young lady’s shoulder and opened up to her tales of her yore childhood. Yasmeen was all ears to her.

The two princesses chatted away, ignoring the minutes that rolled by. It was an immediate fondness they had found in each other: sharing both of their inner thoughts, what interests they had, and even to the point when Primarosa insisted on calling her ‘hermana’; moreover, sharing with Yasmeen her unwanted betrothal to Duke Gervasio.

“You are going to marry someone you do not even like?” Yasmeen exclaimed. Protesting such a tradition of transactional marriage. “It may have worked civilizations ago but I don’t think so this time! Can we not marry someone we love?”

“One can only hope.” Her tone changed to a sudden defeat as she added, “But if it is for the better, perhaps, I can carry my favor in calling to the saints to help me find love for the man papa intended for me.”

Yasmeen shrugged and childishly collapsed on the bed. “I hope too that my brother will hand me to someone pleasing.” Her smile turned sour looking into that consideration. But a girly she was, she demurred in small cries, covering herself with the pillow she brought.

Out of the blue, not even a knock nor a fair salutation, Azlan entered the room with a surprised look on his face as he saw his sister.

“He, he… Good morning, brother.” Yasmeen uttered nervously. “What brings you here?”

The crowned prince raised his brow and found her question ludicrous. He walked towards the bed, where the two ladies slouched, and in an imposing tone, he pointed at his sister, “Should I be asking you that question? You do know well that I now should inspect my imprisoned enemies.”

“With a vase of roses?” She suspiciously and naively asked him, seeing that distinct object that dragged her attention.

Azlan was suddenly drained off of his color, not wanting to be asked more questions about it. He knew that his sister was domineering at some time—mostly when she was suspecting something odd. He had no plausible excuse for it. Yet, he claimed to them that the flowers were for decoration. “This is just for ornamental purposes. Here, take this!” He awkwardly ordered Primarosa.

But the caged princess was no fool…

She accepted the ‘gift’ but never let her wonder, with his unforeseen hospitality, go with the wind. She graciously thanked him while placing the vase on top of the table. Yasmeen slyly looked into the roses and counted them quietly.

Looking back at her captor, trying her very best to not get enthralled again by his fine features, she asked him coolly, “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?”

Charming, he thought, but he then quickly fastened himself to his purpose and answered sternly, “Well, I am here because I want to ask you again—”

“For many times, in a hundred or more, I do not know anything, Your Highness!” Primarosa snapped. “You will get bored of hearing me the same answer of ‘no’… No, no, and no! Please, let us not waste more time on this.”

“As the future caliph of this kingdom, I am willing to do anything to protect it—to preserve my forefather’s tradition and honor. It is for this kingdom that I vow to do the best that I can to bring dominance.” The tone in his voice rose in timbre. “Reminding you again of the punishment for one’s false tongue.”

“No need to remind me, señor.” Primarosa eyed him closely. “I perfectly remember that threat. Why would I forget about it when the prince himself was breaking their laws by toying on a naïve girl’s mind?” Their distance was nearly close as both were matching each other’s pride and stubbornness.

“Twenty-four lovely roses,” Yasmeen noted. “Twenty-four… roses… For twenty-four hours some special someone has been lingering in someone’s thoughts. Why are you thinking about hermana, brother?” Her innocent inquiry caught Azlan off-guard.

There was a moment of still and odd silence that befell the room. He could not tell whether to burst into stupid defenses or drag his sister by the ear with her snooping. Oh, how his heat was rising to his head while trying to be in full composure. “There is no meaning to it, Yasmeen!” He reasoned. The aura became a cumbersome feel, a hulky to be exact, and to avoid more nagging from his sister, the prince grabbed her and pushed her outside the door, leaving a puzzled Primarosa who was standing stiffly and completely wide-eyed. “I will be coming back this afternoon. Don’t ever think that I am done with you.” He added as he closed and locked the door from the outside.

In a hushed tone, he reprimanded his sister for stealing the key to Primarosa’s room. He was not taking it very lightly as he told her, “I will send guards to look out for you, Yasmeen. Primarosa is our enemy. Remember the sin of her father.”

“And to whom you say it is also her burden to carry? Oh, brother, please let me visit her! She is kind and very gentle. She had become my friend! I do not understand why you have such a philosophy of that kind. I am sorry if I stole the key, but can you not see how one could not be fascinated with her?” All of a sudden, the young princess began to happily recall her wonder from hours before, “I saw her peep out of the window and I got curious. I thought she was some phantom but when I asked Arham, he told me everything.”

Azlan had finally connected the dots, “I see now where you have stolen the key.”

Yasmeen replied with a sham smile while both of them made their way to the main corridors of the castle.

Once she realized she was all alone again, Primarosa growled as she slumped herself on the bed and buried her face in a pillow. Outrage succumbed to her very soul as she remembered his face and his words. “Ugh! Honor this, punishment that—I want a way out!” She screeched. Tossing and turning, she could not find peace nor comfort as his voice was resonating in her mind. Tossing and turning she went on, but as she looked at the roses, she became at ease—in full silence. She remembered her grandmama’s garden, her sisters, and also her mama and papa, who would be worried now. Anger turned to sorrow once again. “Well, God bless him, for at least he found interest in flowers.” She sighed.