Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban - Two Moon Princess

“I am not your dear lady,” I said and was about to ask him to leave when Don Alfonso, his eyes on the castle, resumed his talking. “Wouldn’t you agree, Princess, in the easy parallel that can be drawn between the door destiny has closed for me and the one my brother so stubbornly seeks? And most of all, in how they are both connected? Because had my brother found his door, he would be gone by now, and I would be the one attending the ball.”

“What door?”

“The door to the world beyond, of course.” There was surprise in his voice and something else, like distrust, which made me even angrier.

Jumping forward, I grabbed his arm. “What are you talking about?”

Gently but firmly, Don Alfonso pushed me away. “Are you really a princess of the House de Montemaior?”

I tightened my hand around my arrow and bent my legs ready to attack. How did he dare to doubt my words? Don Alfonso did not move. His puzzled eyes intent on mine, he seemed lost in thought. Suddenly he smiled. “But of course! You don’t know about other worlds. Why should you? You are a girl. It is only natural that your father did not want to bother a delicate lady as yourself with the knowledge of the door. Sorry to have mentioned it.”

After bowing gracefully to me, he turned his attention to the balcony. He seemed to consider the matter closed. I did not. Being a princess was hard enough without having to endure some stupid prince bragging about secrets I would never share because they were reserved for men.

I lifted my arm and pressed the arrow against his neck. “Tell me about the door. Now!” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Or else.”

Don Alfonso stared at me. “All right, all right. I will explain,” he said, while with a quick movement of his arm, he snatched the arrow from my hand. Swiftly he jumped back, bowed deeply to me, and placed it at my feet. Then, a mocking smile dancing on his handsome face, he addressed me formally.

“Do you know the story of the beginning of the Houses of Old, Princess? How far away, in a world beyond our own—”

I cut him short. “Of course I do.”

I, and every child in the kingdom, had heard the story of King Roderic, of how after being defeated by the Arabian invaders, he fled north with his men. To help them escape pursuit, the Celtic tribes of the high mountains led them through a door that connected their world to ours. The king planned to return, but soon after their arrival, the door was destroyed forcing them to remain in, Xaren-Ra our world, forever. According to legend King Roderic and his knights were the founders of the Houses of Old.

I had heard the story. I had also outgrown this and other fairy tales long ago, about the same time I had outgrown the crib. Evidently somebody had not.

“Yes,” he continued, “everybody knows the legend of the origin of the Houses of Old, but only the royal families know that the Xarens, the aborigines of this world, knew of other doors.”

“What does it matter now? The Xarens are dead.”

“You are wrong, Princess. Our ancestors destroyed their culture, but after so many centuries of intermarriage, they are in all of us.”

“But their knowledge is lost.”

“Not totally. Some of their scrolls have survived to our days. Don Julián has studied them over the years and has deciphered their writings. From what he has already translated, he is positive other doors exist. And he is determined to find them.”

“Why should your brother care about other doors?”

“Because the Arabs who overcame King Roderic were said to possess the knowledge of how to convert a desert into a garden. And nothing would please my brother more than to bring water to our desert lands. Actually, when Don Julián was invited to the ball, he was more interested in the opportunity to discuss his theories with your uncle, Don Ramiro, than he was in the prospect of dancing with the most beautiful ladies this world beholds.”

“Talking with my uncle? Why?”

“Because your uncle is the most learned man in both our kingdoms, and . . .”

I stopped listening. Conjured by his words, an image was forming in my mind. The image was of a shadow emerging through an arch carved in a broken rock down at the Cove of the Dead—an arch that my memory had awkwardly distorted into resembling a door.

“Shh!” Don Alfonso whispered. “He’s coming.”

I bolted back to reality. “Who’s coming?”

Don Alfonso raised a hand to his lips. Then he signaled toward the castle.

The doors to the balcony were now wide open, and a lady in a pink dress was coming through the doorway. It was Rosa. A tall man dressed in black walked behind her.

“Who is he?”

“My brother,” Don Alfonso whispered in my ear.

“Your brother?” I repeated, not sure of what I was seeing, because Rosa, my overwhelming and bossy sister, was not flirting as usual but seemed strangely subdued. She was talking softly to her new admirer, and he was answering back in the same tone. The vision was too impossible to be a dream.

Puzzled by Rosa’s peculiar behavior, I moved closer to the balcony to get a better view. But in my haste I forgot to check my step, and with a crack, the old plank complained under my feet and started swaying. It was too late. For a moment I struggled for balance while leaves and sky swung around me. Then, just as I thought I would fall, two arms grabbed my waist and dragged me back to the branch.

Rosa’s voice came from above. “Who’s there?”

I heard the rustling of silk against stone. Looking up, I saw Rosa leaning over the balustrade. She was so close, I could have touched the hem of her skirts by extending my arm. I waited, shaking with frustration at the idea of being found spying on the ball—and by Rosa of all people. But instead of her teasing laugh, I heard a grave, reassuring voice. “Do not worry, Princess. It was only an owl calling.”

At these magical words, Rosa turned and faced the man. Her voice came soft and hesitant, almost pleading. “But Sire. I am most certain that someone is in the tree.”

“Princess. I assure you no one is there.”

“But . . .”

The king took her hands. “Come with me, my love,” he implored her in a compelling voice. “Come sit by my side. For how am I to live if you don’t allow me to quench my thirst in the ocean of your eyes?”

After a slight hesitation, Rosa accepted the arm the king was offering. Slowly they moved away.

What a nice young man , I thought with relief. Obviously pomposity ran in the family, but at least Don Julián had put it to good use by distracting my sister.

“My lessons have been successful,” Don Alfonso whispered.

“What lessons?” Suddenly I realized I was still leaning against him. I moved quickly away. “Thank you very much, Sir, for helping me before,” I told him with a deep curtsy.

“You are welcome, my lady,” Don Alfonso replied, his eyes still on the balcony.

I followed his stare. Half-hidden under the brambles hanging from the trellis, Rosa was sitting on a bench. Don Julián, a knee on the ground, was talking to her in earnest. The king had a beautiful voice, and knowing Rosa, I had no doubt his words would be as welcome to her ears as the first drops of rain in a dry field.

“Open your eyes to the beauty of the evening,” Don Julián was saying. “Feel the caress of the breeze over your shoulders. Let the fragrance of the flowers fill your senses. And fear nothing, my love, because my life is yours, and yours is sacred.”

Presently he paused and reached for one of the roses that hung over the balcony. With a swift movement, he tore it from the brambles and presented it to my sister. His voice, like a wave swelling into a crest before kissing the sand, flowed into the warm air of the evening.