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Prince Pac, well- commoner Pac now, stares at himself in the mirror. Gone is his princely attire, instead replaced by a beige tunic, slightly ill-fitting, hanging over his frame, a simple pair of brown pants whose legs were tucked into leather boots reaching his mid-calf. And, just to finish the look, he settles a large brown cloak over his body.
He double checks that he has everything he needs: a bag of coins, a wicker basket, and a cloth to hide his goods. Pulling over the hoodie over his head, the prince opens his room’s large glass-stained window facing the garden and, with the help of a decorated rope, reaches the ground of the palace.
He hides from pillar to pillar, silently maneuvering around the guards patrolling the wall facing the town over. In a moment, their shifts would end and they would be replaced by the night guards, allowing him a small window of time to climb over the wall and settle in the other side of the castle walls.
The time came. The set of guards retreating from their positions once the bell rung throughout the palace. For half a minute, the wall would be unattended, no set of eyes watching over the perfectly arranged grey bricks. Pac readies himself, this was not his first time. He eyes the window seal of a turret, lined with spikes, and runs towards it.
Swinging his prosthetic leg over the windowsill, he grabs purchase of the sides of the window to pull himself over. He lands expertly on the other side with his flesh leg. He scurries over to the other side of the turret, the one facing the town. The loud celebration of the townsfolk reaches even the palace, enticing him further. He repeats the same set of actions: prosthetic first, grab sides, pull himself over, and-
And land outside of the castle.
He makes a run for it to the town, using the tall trees as cover alongside the dim of the night, and staying far, far away from the paved road leading to the castle.
Fit stands behind his booth. The Floral Festival was always his favorite holiday the kingdom celebrates. He props up his elbow on ledge of the front of his booth and rests his head on his hand, observing his child light up his homemade firework. Despite his protests, Ramón continued to make fireworks, using Fit’s background as an arsonist against him. (“So you can set things on fire when you were younger than me, but I can’t create a small controlled device?” “Do as I say, not as I do.”). Of course, when it comes to the battle of wits, his son will always win.
The oil-dipped string hanging out the bottom of the barrel was lit up with a match. Ramón runs to a safe distance, wide eyes focusing on the firework, watching as the flame crawls closer and closer to the barrel.
It whistles as it shoots up high into the sky, exploding into hundreds of flaming colored salts dancing in the sky with other fireworks.
His eyes trail down. The warm fairylights connecting the different booths together, dangling above them like stars. It spreads out further, illuminating each cobbled streets of Rosedell for its residents. This was especially helpful for the children who are throwing powdered flower petals at each other.
The town rustles with mischievous children, happy couples proclaiming their love loudly by buying extravagant bouquets for each other, and cakes shared between parent and child. Multiple bands waiting for their turn to play music in the plaza. The air carries a distinct smell of meat being cooked by a fire. As per tradition, all the lights of houses are turned, further brightening the streets.
Fit turns his head to the contents of his booth. Flowers of all shapes and sizes hang from the ceiling and cling into beams holding up the roof. ‘Fit’s Flower Field’ is one of the more popular stands littered around the town center. It sells everything from the smallest baby breaths to the largest sunflowers, from the dullest petals to the brightest buds. They even sell the seeds and stalks! Its crowning jewel being the kingdom’s national flower — a beautiful red rose.
A couple walks to him. Fixing his posture, he plasters on the most pleasant smile he could, greeting his customers, “Good evening, madams!”
The lady with white hair and a streak of brown smiles back at him, “Good evening, sir!” she chirps back, “We’re looking for dahlias, both large and small, please.” a polite expression on her face as she spoke. Hair was pulled into a loose bun low behind her head, lilac hyacinths curling over it.
“Dahlias? That’s quite a strange flower to purchase during this event.”
“We own a bakery right by the corner.” states the lady’s companion. Her long brown hair braided with tiny pink and green hydrangeas inserted into the strands. “We’re going to decorate our cakes and cupcakes with them. We decided to buy them now when they are cheapest.”
As a fellow entrepreneur, he can appreciate a sound business decision. Handing over dahlias of an array of sizes, the ladies hand him a bag of coins for their goods, bidding him farewell with flowers in hand and an invitation to buy their cakes with the dahlias the next day.
He spots Phil, his oldest friend, with his children in their own booth. Chayanne, his son, was setting out little treats like brigadeiros, pastels, coxinhas, and, Fit’s own personal favorite, pão de queijos to fill in the empty spots left by his sold snacks. He sets them into sections of their own as his sister, Lullah, fixes the gorgeous bright flowers decorating its sides. She carefully inspects each petal, putting them away in her bag when they’re not up to her standards, and replacing them with fresher ones. She has a real eye for detail.
“Hey, Ramón.” he calls his son over, “Chayanne and Lullah are over there. Do you want to go play with them? Show off your fireworks if their dad allows them to?” Fit points to where they are, to the northeast of them.
Ramón nods his head, adjusting his leather hat and heading straight over to his friends with a hop in his step. Fit can’t help but watch his son happily skip over to them. During the previous years of his life, he would never be caught acting childish. He’s glad his son slowly managed to heal from that part of his life.
From the corner of his eye he notices a cloaked figure enter the town center. He notices their head scanning the place, spinning around as if it’s their first time seeing the place. Which might as well be true, seeing as it’s also the first time Fit sees this person around town.
He strolls to Chayanne’s booth, looking over all of his options before settling on a chocolate brigadeiro. Ramón tugs on his pant leg, opening his mouth. He cannot hear what his son said, but it must be a good comment as the cloaked person throws their head back in a laugh. They pull their hoodie down, exposing their nearly jet black hair, its strands swaying in the wind as Lullah tucks a cornflower behind their ear. They turn sideways, providing Fit with a view of his features and, oh-
His skin is a light tan, a dazzling smile graces his lips. He has a strong nose, slightly crooked, and his face was smooth, save for a scar a few inches long under his eye. His eyes are a dark honey brown with a gold ring akin to the eclipse. His ears are decorated with short gold dangling earrings, reflecting the glow of the fairylights.
He sets his basket in one hand as he hands over a few coins to Chayanne, before heading straight towards him. He slightly favors his left leg, causing a slight limp in his gait.
“Good evening.” the man says in a pleasant tone. God, even his voice is melodic. “Are you the florist?”
Fit is stunned for a moment, analyzing his features. Up close, he can see slight bumps littered across his cheeks and a slight stubble on his chin. Mentally breaking himself away from his stupor, he answers, “Yes, I am. I offer a large array of flowers — everything this town could possibly want.”
Humming, the man’s eyes scans his selection of flowers, “I would like to have two dozen roses, please.”
“Two dozen? You’re courting two people tonight?” Fit chuckles in a teasing tone. Complying with his order, he fashions a piece of paper under his booth and wraps the flowers in groups of four. He covers them, mostly for show as the thorns have been removed that morning, before wrapping them with twine.
“Pardon my asking, but,” he says as he hands the man his purchase, “are you new in town? I’ve never seen you before.”
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, “Kind of?” he blurts out. Coughing into his hand, he puts on a charming smile. “I am just traveling by,” he clarifies, “I’ve heard of the Floral Festival and I was intrigued. It sounded like a festival I have to experience at least once in my life.”
Fit barks out a laugh, “As someone who grew up here, it’s really not that special. It’s just an annual event that lasts the entire night. You won’t notice the night though, I mean, look at the amount of lights in this place!” gesturing to all of the fairylights and the lanterns and candles lit in every crevice of the land.
“Who knows? Maybe this night will be different.” he transfers the roses from the ledge of the stall into his basket, blanketing them with thick piece of blue fabric. “What’s your name, Mr. Florist?”
“Um,” he blushes, breathing in deeply, “Fit Emsi, at your service.”
The man cringes, squinting his eyes and lips curling up. Oh no. Fit needs to change the subject immediately. His baby boy crosses his mind.
“Ramón!” he bellows. His son snaps his head to his father, walking over when he gestured for him.
“Do you need something?” Ramón peers over from the man’s side.
“This man here is passing by for the festival! Do you want to help me show him around?”
Ramón turns to the person beside him, “Oh!” he takes a step back, “You’re new here? I swear I’ve seen you before!” standing on his toes to inspect the man further.
“Oh, well, I sometimes travel through this parts, you know” the man chuckles, “You must’ve seen me those few other times.” he finishes with a smile. Setting his basket down on the ledge, he gives the father and son a look, “Will you show me around then?”
“Firstly, Mr. Man,” Ramón sits on the ledge, leaning forward, “you have to remove your cloak! You’re wearing white, yes?”
“What’s the significance of wearing white?”
“If someone wears white clothes, then it means they want to join a particular tradition.” Fit explains, placing the basket where his paper sits, “Days before the festival, we grind dried flower petals into dust and stuff them into a small ball. The more compact, the better.” gesturing to the people, mostly children, playing with the powder, “Then, we throw it at anybody who’s wearing white or white-adjacent colors.”
The man nods sagely, “And the lights?”
“The Floral Festival is held a week before summer. The lights represent the sun, and we hope for the summer season to benefit us.”
Ramón peers at the basket on the floor, “Why did you buy so many flowers?” he questions.
The man takes off his cloak, covering his basket and its contents, “I have a son back home.” he says, “He couldn’t come by due to the hour. He’s a little younger than you, actually.” Not a lie, technically, he’s sound asleep in his bed right now. “And, I want to decorate my personal spaces.”
“What else do you do during this night?”
“Ooh!” Ramón perks up, pointing at a stall carrying stuffed toys, “If you win one of those games, you get to choose a toy to bring home!” he runs towards it, beckoning over his father and their guest.
Sharing a look, the two men walk over to Ramón. The game itself doesn’t look too difficult: just toss metal rings into one of the poles and they get points. The farther the stick, the more points they receive.
“Can you win me this one?” Ramón points to an octopus plushy, it’s maroon in color and quite large, around the size of the child’s torso. “Please?” he pleads, pulling out his biggest kicked puppy look.
“Of course, Ramón.” their guest smiles sweetly at the child. He turns to the owner, “How much to play? And how many points for that plushy?”
“Two coins for ten rings, four coins for twenty-five. You’ll need a hundred points. It’s real popular, y’know?”
“I’ll get twenty-five rings then.” he turns to Fit and Ramón, “Watch this.” he winked.
All but one ring hang from his left hand, the lone ring between his thumb and index fingers of his right. Positioning himself, he trains his vision to focus on the furthest pole. Tossing the ring, it catches the tip and falls down the pole.
Fit and Ramón watch, captivated by the man’s precision. He had managed to toss all of the rings into the poles worth the most points, easily going over the goal of a hundred.
He turns to the game owner wearing a cheeky grin, “I’ll take that one, please!” pointing to the octopus plush. Wordlessly, he hands it over to him.
“Look, Ramón!” he holds out the plush in front of him, “It’s all yours!”
Ramón jumps up, snatching the toy from the man, “Thank you! Thank you so much!” he holds the plush tight against his body.
Fit stares at the scene, amazed at this stranger’s capability of winning so easily in a game he has never played before. “How did you do that?”
“Huh?”
“You just won on your first try! Not only that, but you achieved a high, maybe even the highest, score! I’ve never seen someone do that before.”
Pac sheepishly hides his face into his sleeve, “Archery helps.” he speaks into his elbow.
Fit nods his head, “I see… I’m more of a close quarters guy myself. Trident, scythe, sword, as long as it has a long handle for me to grab onto, I’m good at it.”
“You have to teach me one day.”
Ramón reaches out for his dad’s hand, “Less talking, more playing!”
The man tilts his head to the side, “How about the color thing? The one with the crushed flowers?”
Ramón cheers, “Let’s go back to our stall! I’ll have to keep my hat and Meathead safe, and we can get the powder!” he tugs his father’s arm, pulling him to their booth. Their guest following suit.
“Meathead?” Fit says with an eyebrow raised. Ramón only nods his head fervently.
Once all the materials are acquired, they go to the area people threw the powder with reckless abandon. Surprisingly, the largest demographic this time is teenagers. A circle of spectators watch them, mostly young children already covered head to toe in colors. Their guest stands to the side, hesitant to enter the game. Fit squeezes his shoulder, tilting his head to indicate his head towards the players. Ramón pulls his arm, dragging him into the makeshift arena.
He didn’t even last a second before he was hit in the stomach by Ramón himself. Making sure that his companion sees the large smirk plastered on his face, Ramón turns around and runs further into the arena. Not letting the child get away with the betrayal, his companion pulls his arm back and aims for his head. He never thought he would use his archery skills for evil, much less against a child.
The little ball explodes on impact, pink powder forming a cloud on top of his head, settling into Ramón’s wavy brown hair upon impact. He immediately skids to a stop. Shaking his head to rid himself of the excess powder, it falls gently on his shoulders. His eyes twinkled. Finally, someone who won’t hold back!
Charging straight towards his friend earned him another hit to the leg, this time puffing up into a blue cloud. Ramón throws three balls towards him, two successfully landing on his chest and shoulder, the last one barely grazing his arm. A shout of victory escapes his throat, he was about to torment him.
His friend yelps, dodging the next attacks by running to the left. He chases Ramón into the crowd, throwing the little balls to other people along the way.
Fit watches the scene fondly. It’s been a while since his baby boy was comfortable enough to be silly with another adult. He stands by the sidelines, keeping an ear out for the screeches and screams every time one lands a successful color bomb.
Some time passes, until he can’t hear them anymore. Concerned, Fit raises his voice above the current band’s music and the chatter of the town, “Ramón? Where are you?”
His son rises over the crowd, head peering over and arm waving over to him, “Dad!”
He makes his way through the crowd. It became clearer that Ramón was sitting on their friend’s shoulders. Both of them are absolutely caked in colorful powder, not an inch of white clothing peeking below the colors.
“You know Fit,” their friend has a mischievous glint in his eyes, “it’s not fair if you’re the only one whose dull. You need some color in your life, yeah?”
“Wha-!”
He didn’t even have the time to react before he was bombarded by powder of all shades of green, blue, red, and pink. The perpetrators even had the audacity to laugh in his face. He only rolls his eyes.
The sun would rise soon. Families were retiring into the homes, finally shutting off their lights after a long night of festivities. Their own booth has long since been closed, and Phil is in the final stages of packing up. Chayanne strolls over to them, a basket hanging from his hand.
“Tio Fit! We had some left over, I know how much you like them.” Inside the basket were three pão de queijos, one for each of them.
Reaching over to one of his bags, Fit offers Chayanne a bundle of carnations. “Trade?” he insists, taking the treats inside the bag and replacing them with the flowers.
A smile forms in his face, “Thank you, Tio Fit! I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye, Ramón! Bye, stranger!” he waves. In the distance his sister and father do the same. He runs to his family, going home.
The once bustling plaza is now sparsely filled with adults. The last band of the day plays their final song. The sweet tone of the violin permeates through the air, accompanied by the rich deep notes of the cello and the perfect brashness of the trumpet.
Under the fairylights, couples join together swaying to the music. He catches a glance of the ladies who bought dahlias from him, looking at each other like they were the only ones in the room, like the music was made for them. Ramón looks at them, and then looks at Fit and their friend. “You guys should dance,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
Their friend indiscreetly glances over at him, “Well? May I have this dance?”
Fit stares at his son, who nods in approval. Making his decision, he turns over to the man, “You may.”
Standing up first, their friend offers a hand to Fit, who graciously accepts it. They slowly make their way at the edge of the center. Fit’s hand hovers over the small of his back, their fingers intertwined as his dance partner gently rests his hand on Fit’s shoulder.
Swaying to the beat, they twirl around each other, occasionally making eye contact.
“Tell me more about yourself.” Fit whispers, a whisper is all they need due to their proximity. “You mentioned you have a son?”
The man leans on him ever so slightly, “Yes, my darling son.” he looks at Fit through his lashes. “Richarlyson.”
“Richarlyson? Like the crown prince’s son?”
“Yes, exactly like him.” his head inches closer to Fit’s ear, “Have you figured it out yet?” a teasing edge clipping itself into his voice.
Fit stills for a moment, allowing his partner to lead the movements. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle fell into their rightful places. The familiarity of him despite the sudden appearance, the cloak he brought with him covering the entirety of his body, the reason why he was alone despite his stories of his family, the secrecy surrounding his name-
“Prince Pac?”
“That’s me.” the prince, the crown prince, giggles into his ear. The music crescendos, signaling its end. Prince Pac pushes himself away from Fit, staring right into his eyes. “You figured it out.”
The music comes to its final note, happy couples sharing kisses. Prince Pac tilts his head, pressing a feather-light kiss on his jaw.
“I have to get home now.” Prince Pac says, “Before my family finds out I’ve been gone the night.”
Fit nods dumbly, walking hand in hand to their stall where his cloak and basket are. Thankfully, Ramón already has them grasped between his fingers. Prince Pac pulls in him, wrapping his arms around the boy. “Thank you for such a wonderful night.” he mutters into his hair.
He drapes the cloak over him once more, basket blanketed by the cloth by in his hand. “I’ll come back soon, okay?” With that, he runs over to the palace.
The last signs of the night make way for the new sunrise, subjecting the sky to slowly blending hues of midnight blue and fire orange.
“Ramón, we just spent the entire night with the crown prince.”
“I know.”
Pac got to the walls of the palace before the bell was set to ring once more. He repeats the same set of steps he did to sneak out in the first place. He reaches the garden below his room, the rope disguised as a vine climbing to his window still in place. He climbs it into the unlocked window.
Once safely in his room, he takes off his cloak, setting it aside. The basket is then sat on the dresser, cloth removed. He sniffs the roses, his kingdom’s pride and joy. The deep blood red petals are soft against his fingers, circling around the center perfectly.
Changing back into his princely attire, he carefully wraps his powder-stained clothes in the cloth, debating whether he should wash them or not.
He slips on his pearl white shirt, adjusting the collars to lay perfectly flat on his collarbone. Then he grabs a wide strip of cloth, wrapping it around his throat and tying it into a cravat. The vest came next, buttoning the few buttons and tucking the cravat underneath it. His suit jacket is one of the final pieces. Pushing his arm through the sleeves, he tugs on his cuffs and straightens his lapels. To really bring this look together, he clips on a cape to one shoulder.
Pac reverently holds one of the bundles of roses in his hands. Leaving the room, he walks out into the hallway and beelines for his son. He twists the knob of the grand door leading to his son’s room.
“Richas, I have a gift for you.” he says in a sing-song tone. Richarlyon grumbles, chunks of words leave his mouth. He pulls his blanket tighter against him. “It’s roses from the town.”
“Pai?” the raspy voice of his child finally heard by the room, “How did you get these?”
“What better way to learn than first-hand experience? Want to join me next time? I have two people I really want you to meet.”