Once Upon A [Fallen] Time

by Samreen Ahsan

  My father shook his head and kept his gaze locked at the sky. A drink in his hand and a cigar sticking out of his lips, he was certainly lost in his own trail of thoughts.

  “Have you ever had a dream, Edward?” My entire body tensed at his question. I stared at his back—without a clue what to answer him. When he didn’t hear anything from me, he asked: “Are you listening, Edward?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes,” I answered.

  “Yes what?” He was still looking outside, blowing the clouds of smoke into the night air.

  I stayed quiet. He turned around and looked at me. I stood there emotionless, my hands clasped together at my back.

  He walked to the seat with drunken steps and sat down. “Sit,” he ordered. He rubbed his temples and I noticed he looked exhausted. He had once told me that he had less than a year left to live. Was he dreading it each day? It was true that once you know when you die, you stop living. The moment King Stefan had told me the ugly truth that our family only had a lifespan of sixty years, I had stopped living in any fantasy.

  “I asked you, Edward, have you ever had a dream?” He looked me in the eye, examining my every expression.

  I sank deeper in the velvet armchair and leaned against the backrest to look up at the ceiling. “Dreams are illusive fantasies. They never come true.” I looked back at him.

  He didn’t take his deadly eyes off me. “So, you have fantasies?”

  “You called to interrogate me?” I asked, irritated.

  He chuckled and picked up the book. “I can assure you, dreams do come true.” He opened the book and handed it to me. I looked at the book carefully; the first illuminated parchment grabbed my attention. The book was written in Latin, but I knew it was the translation of Roman de la Rose (Romance of the Rose) by Guillaume de Lorris, a French poet who had existed almost two hundred years ago. I had seen this book back when I’d been a child. I knew it had been given to my father—a gift from an English poet I had once met in my childhood.

  I focused on the image, a man lying on the bed, traversing into a dream. The image was surrounded with a text and decorated initials.

  “Many men say that there is nothing in dreams but fables and lies,” he watched me as he read the verses. It seemed like he had memorized it. “But many may have dreams which are not deceitful, whose import becomes quite clear afterward.”

  I regarded him with a sour expression. What was he trying to imply? That he had some stupid dream, which held some significance in his life? I looked back at the parchment and focused on what he was saying before I closed the book and placed it back on the table. I didn’t want to go down this road with him.

  “What is the hurry, son? Don’t you fancy a drink with your old man?” he snickered and handed me a drink in a crystal goblet. He had never spoken to me like this—in a father-son way. It had always been a king and his descendant. I took a sip and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “Do you know why I have called you here, Edward?” he asked, drink in his hand while he blew another puff. I waited for him to continue. “Remember I told you how hazardous a beautiful woman is?” I held my breath tightly. I had a feeling this was not going in a good direction. “She could poison our lives.” I bridled my wandering thoughts. “But…”

  He stood up and walked about the darkened room. My eyes followed his haughty poise. There was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to spill, but I didn’t know why he paused.

  “But sometimes… a woman can change perspectives too.” He was walking back and forth. When he went towards his bed, I noticed his mirror was missing. Had he moved it somewhere else? He stopped walking and sat back in his chair. I looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Don’t be so indifferent, son, that you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

  I averted my eyes and looked towards the missing mirror, followed by the door that led to the secret spring.

  “The woman…” he lit another cigar and looked at me, “that you call your captive,” he took a deep puff, “I’m trying to understand who the captive is and who the captor is here.” I threw daggers at him but held my tongue tightly. Anything I’d speak might go against her or me.

  “From what I see, you didn’t even ask once if she was a peasant and you invited her to the royal table.” I moved forward while clasping my hands on my knees. “So, get to the point.”

  He reciprocated my act by moving forward as well to look me in the eye.

  “Didn’t you notice her?” God knew how much I noticed that woman so closely. “She is here…” he moved back and spread his arms, “in this cursed castle,” he shook his head, “and still the flowers in her hair didn’t wither.” He was completely drunk in his fascination for her. “Do you honestly think she was peasantry?” He looked agitated. “The silk she wore, and besides, do you think peasant blood is capable of bringing flowers inside this castle?” There was nothing I could say. I’d have to stick to the lies to protect her. “She is no ordinary woman, Edward.” He looked me in the eye. “The flowers on her didn’t wither. Do you know what this means?” I sod inside but tried to curb my temper. He was completely struck by her powers.

  “She is a witch?” I asked hesitantly.

  There were magic and excitement, a hope dancing in his eyes—that I had never seen before.

  “It doesn’t affect her,” he said. “For the first time, I feel like I hold the reins of my fate in my own hands.” He stood up and walked around the room once again, my gaze tracking his every move. “I feel like…” for the first time, I noticed King Stefan was out of words. He was troubled delivering his emotions. “I feel as if I am able to write my own story. No one else holds the power.” I looked at him confounded. Was he implying that she had a royal blood in her? “She is a woman who has come out of my dreams.” His dreams? What was he saying? “You spend your entire life having one dream—a woman standing in your garden—surrounded by nature…” I held my breath tightly, my heart hammering. “And one fine day… she just starts living with you,” he snickered and shook his head. “There’s a dream legacy passed from seven generations of Hue men—a woman haunting them all their lives.” I stared at him, not able to believe what I was hearing. He was talking about my dream. “She is holding our weapon but she’s standing in our garden which is full of natural gems. It seems like nature is in love with her. She’d create all the life within this castle. She is wearing a beautiful white dress with every possible flower stitched to it.” He rubbed his beard, his eyes showing his fascination. “She looks sinfully tempting but she also looks like a killer. And we are so consumed by lust that we don’t see her intention.” He looked me in the eye. “I was not supposed to share this dream yet. Hue men normally share it with their sons when they reach the deathbed, but since she’s already here—before my death—I had to share.” He moved in closer. “Tell me… did you ever have this dream?” I could sense danger lurking behind the walls of this castle.

  I felt like the walls of the chamber were closing in on me. I couldn’t even imagine what he would do to her. She was not just in my dreams, but she had been haunting all Hue men in the past? Was she truly Jasmine after all? Because that was the only witch that had haunted Hues.

  “It was not just the garden of our castle,” he referred to the poem, “but I call it hortus delicarium (the garden of pleasure), where she gave me hope.” I wanted to shut down my mind. “She is a rose in this garden, attracting everyone with her beautiful charms.” This was my dream, my garden, my fantasy. He made me believe that dreams do have significance in our lives just like how Guillaume de Lorris had narrated in his poem. “The rose is inhabited by Déduit (Pleasure) and his companions, Jeunesse (Youth), Richesse (Wealth), Liesse (Jubilation), and Beauté (Beauty).” He was using the exact French words to make me understand his dream. He assumed I couldn’t picture it in my head.

  Bloody hell! She was not just my fantasy but my forefathers’ as well.

  “You sound like a poet,” I grunt
ed. “You were the one who used to say poetry is a waste of time.”

  “Yes,” he sank deeper in his chair, “but I never knew a dream could shape reality.”

  I held my breath tightly and recalled the poem to argue.

  “So, you’re saying she is Idleness, who is the intimate acquaintance of Diversion,” I chuckled as I recalled Guillaume’s words, “the elegant charmer who owns the garden.” I couldn’t agree more with him that she was indeed a charmer. “She could lead you to damnation,” I added. “In your case, she doesn’t own the garden.” Or does she? I wondered if she had any relation with this castle. I hated to admit it, but my father was right—she truly didn’t have any curse affecting her inside the castle.

  He watched me for a while and changed the topic. He had mixed feelings for her—he couldn’t decide if she was an angel or a devil.

  “I want to know what she is capable of, Edward. She demanded the mirror,” he gestured towards his left side, where the mirror was missing. “We give her the mirror.” So apparently, the mirror was now in my chamber. “I know she made up a story of being lost and seeking help here,” I stiffened at the king’s words. He was more intelligent than I assumed. “Do you honestly think she looked like she needed someone’s help?” He pulled his eyebrows. “She managed to haunt us for the past seven generations and she needs our bloody help?” He chuckled.

  My heart was beating in my ears now. She better ran before King Stefan harmed her because it was now beyond my control to protect her. At least, I was sure he didn’t know she came from the mirror—and that I had been the one pulling her into our world to sate my hunger.

  “What do you think she came for?” I asked as calmly as I could, feigning ignorance.

  He kept looking at me. “I don’t know. That’s why I called you here,” he paused. “You need to find it out.”

  “How can I find out?” I had to pretend to be King Stefan’s ally and that I would obey him like the dutiful son.

  “Tell me what else she is capable of. I want to see if the dream has any significance in our lives.” There was a spark in his eyes. Curiosity? Fascination? “But… I know she will be able to see her reflection.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because the curse doesn’t affect her,” he repeated. “Her beauty…” he looked up and took a deep breath. My breath staggered at his words. The room felt more and more claustrophobic with every heartbeat. “It is not something to imprison, Edward.”

  “So, I should let her go?”

  “No,” he replied. “But don’t make her feel imprisoned.”

  “Why?” I was curious now.

  A smile touched his lips. “Because she might be the one, son.” There was a hope in his eyes that I had never seen before. Was he hoping he could get more years to live through her? Could she really do that?

  I drew my eyebrows closer, pretending that I didn’t know what he was talking about. I guess he read my expressions, because he added: “She may be the one to end the curse. She could be Jasmine.”

  “No, she is not Jasmine,” I replied impulsively.

  He raised his eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”

  Shit! I couldn’t tell him that she had told me herself she was not Jasmine. I knew she wasn’t lying, but if I told this to King Stefan, it could compromise her identity.

  I ran my hand over my face, taking time to think about what I had to say.

  “Because I told you that I have seen Jasmine in the mirror,” I lied. “She is not that woman. Besides, you dreamt that it looked like Jasmine had the intention of killing.” His anxiety was palpable. I had been awestruck, too, when I had held her in my arms for the first time. A woman, whom you had dreamt all your life, suddenly appears in front of you—I was able to relate to what my father must be going through. However, in my case, I was already in love with the woman. For my father, I knew he could never fall in love. It was just pure lust that had consumed him. But I could also see hope in his eyes that I had never seen before.

  He was again taking his time to read my face. I couldn’t unveil her secret just like that. I had sworn to protect her, which also meant protecting her identity. Despite her being hard on me, she was still in my protection.

  “So, you never had this dream, Edward?” he asked again.

  “No,” I looked him in the eye—a straightforward lie. “Not once.”

  I stood up from the chair, already decided to retire from his chamber.

  “Don’t be so hopeful, King Stefan,” I said, and the old man looked up at me dismayed. “You don’t remember your words… but I do.” His eyes turned to stone. “A beautiful woman is a disease that paralyzes your mind.” His eyes grew wide at my boldness. “I can see who is paralyzed now.” I straightened my tunic and headed to the door, leaving King Stefan chasing his own fantasies.

  He was falling for my captive—utterly besotted by her beauty. Perhaps she was a witch, even if she said she wasn’t. She had been successfully haunting not just me but all Hue men in the past. I didn’t know how much I could trust her. Lust had already stolen my thinking powers. I couldn’t even argue with her. Every time she held up an argument, she tied my tongue. And whenever she stood close to me—damn it—the beast inside me howled and banged the cage.

  On my way back, I ran into Haakon in the corridor outside my chamber. I stopped and met his gaze, but he looked away and walked right past me. Something was not right. I turned around and called his name.

  “Haakon,” my voice echoed through the hushed corridor.

  He halted his steps and turned around, but he was avoiding eye contact with me. “Your Highness,” he bowed slightly in front of me, his gaze cast down.

  “What are you doing here?” I had a feeling Haakon and Lady Farrow had a history. The way she looked at him in shock and horror. I felt like she had met him outside the castle.

  “Nothing, Your Highness,” he looked up. “How have you been doing after the arrival of your guest?” He wasn’t nervous anymore as he smiled and met my gaze.

  “She is not my guest,” I walked close to him. “She is my prisoner.”

  He smiled again and looked down at his feet. What was that for?

  “Your book of life,” he shook his head and met my gaze. “Don’t forget that, Your Highness. The pages had already been amended.” He turned and walked out of my vision.

  I stood there motionless, trying to figure out what his words meant. If he was talking about my fate, it had indeed changed in a night. Not only mine, but also my father’s. I had seen a dream dancing in his eyes. The dream haunting him for years had come alive.

  For the first time ever, my father was actually attracted to a woman. As far as I could think back, he had always seen—and treated—women as a tool of pleasure, mercilessly. But when he looked at her, he was a different person—as if she appeased him.

  This woman had managed to create even more trouble for me. Not only did I have to protect her from my father’s filthy hands, but I also had to be cautious of my father’s every move. It was not just her body I had to protect—I had to safeguard her heart too. I was certain that King Stefan would try to build a home inside her heart. He’d do anything to linger on to the hope to live for a few more years but I would never let him win her heart. No king in the past had lived this dream up until now. No king had been given any hope for redemption—but this woman had not only invaded my fantasies but also my forefathers’. King Stefan would do anything to safeguard his dream. But what he didn’t know was that she was mine, and her heart, body, and soul were mine to keep forever.

  I hurried back to my chamber and opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed but snapped her head up as soon as I entered. I had thought she’d be sleeping by now, with the red curtains drawn around the canopy bed, but the curtains were still apart.

  The first thing I noticed was the damn mirror. It stood at the left side of the bed she had slept in last night. Now, if she slept in this bed again tonight, she coul
d wake up with her reflection. But the question was: how could I avoid it?

  She stood up to look at me. The night had already fallen. I ignored her stare and entered in my dressing chamber to change for the night. There was a huge golden armoire that hadn’t been here before. It was loaded with exquisite royal clothing for her. King Stefan had truly been poisoned by her charms—apparently stung hard.

  In the light of an oil lamp, I saw her shadow. I turned around and looked at her. She still had not changed.

  She cleared her throat. “I need a chambermaid.” She looked away, her arms folded. “I need someone to help me come out of this dress.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “All servants have retired, I’m afraid.” I turned around, taking out my nightclothes from the drawer. “Perhaps if you ask King Stefan—”

  “Fine!” she snapped and barged out of the dressing area. I changed my clothes quickly, scolding myself. I knew I made her angry by bringing up his name again, but I couldn’t help being jealous. When I came out of the dressing chamber, I realized she wasn’t in the bedchamber and the door was ajar. Where had she gone? She couldn’t have walked too far. I ran into the corridor but couldn’t find her anywhere. Had she really gone to ask the king for a chambermaid? Such a foolishness from her wouldn’t surprise me.

  I took the stairs down to pass the Great Hall to look for her when a voice stopped me at the last step.

  “Edward,” he called. I stopped in my tracks when I noticed her standing next to King Stefan—him holding her hand again. Shit! What was she doing here with him? Wasn’t King Stefan supposed to be in bed?

  He looked at my captive. “I thought you were sleeping,” he sounded concerned but there was a haunting uncertainty in her gait as she looked at their entwined hands.

  King Stefan walked towards me in a drunken stupor, still holding her hand, and tilted his head. “Your prisoner was running somewhere, I believe.” I shifted uncomfortably but never took my eyes off her.