Chapter 1
MARCH 1
In our house, dinner is served at 5:00 PM. No matter what, dinner is served at 5:00 PM. I’ve never asked myself why at this time. Who established this custom, and when?
And if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve never really been one to ask questions. My life has unfolded smoothly, exactly as expected of me.
The clock in the corner reads 5:20 PM, and dessert is being served. Steaming Serbian pie. Coffee will follow, and then the three men in my life will discreetly withdraw to the salon for spirits and conversations not meant for the sensitive ears of women. Of young ladies, to be precise, because I, Alexandrina Atanasiu, am the only female presence in this house.
They will excuse themselves for this ritual, thank me for my company, and kiss me according to their ranks: my father on the top of my head, my uncle on my forehead, and my fiancé on the inside of my left wrist.
The three of them—always the three of them—have been my only family. The fantastic trio: the Atanasiu brothers and Pavel Toma, career military men who have practically known each other forever and have raised me with all the gentleness men in their position could muster.
Last autumn, when I finished school and stayed home, my father announced that Toma would marry me, and I was genuinely happy. I know he’s older than me—exactly how much older, I’m not sure—but I’ve known him since I was a child, and it’s a great comfort to know the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with so well. God has been good to me!
The men eat quickly and heartily, as only men can after a day’s work.
“Are you feeling unwell, miss?” asks Măriuca, the housemaid. “You didn’t even finish your soup!”
I startle, and all eyes turn to me. Talking at the table is not allowed! But Măriuca, having been with us for as long as I can remember, occasionally takes liberties and lets a comment slip. This time, it seems justified.
“The truth is, I’m not feeling very well,” I attempt to lie, though I’m absolutely certain I’m failing. I’ve never—truly never—lied in my entire life!
“Perhaps you’re coming down with a little cold,” Toma offers encouragingly, his gaze softening as it rests on me.
“That must be it,” I cling to the lifeline. “This unpredictable early spring weather is to blame...”
“A warm tea with a splash of rum for our Dulcinea,” Uncle Tiberiu commands without consulting me. “Now that she’s turned 18, she’s allowed,” he adds with a small, encouraging smile.
No one here ever consults me, but I don’t mind. It’s their way of showing they care. If I think about it, it would be quite amusing—a general and two colonels, men who can command hundreds of soldiers to silence with their mere presence, asking me what I’d like in my evening tea.
Măriuca withdraws. Silence settles back over the table, and I can breathe again. I lied! I actually lied, and they believed me! I’m so overwhelmed by the emotions surging through me that I feel dizzy.
I close my eyes and recite the prayer I learned at Școala Centrală, a prayer that has become part of me. Anytime—whether I want to ask for something, give thanks, calm myself, or find my center—I silently say that prayer.
The tea arrives steaming and fragrant at 5:30 PM, and precisely at that moment, my gentlemen rise, give me their customary kisses, and retreat.
I’m left alone, knowing I’m allowed to linger in this room for another half hour before I must retire to the library for my evening reading. My life runs like clockwork. Perhaps, at times, I admit, it feels monotonous and predictable, but I know it must be this way. Everything has its place, its time, its duration.
I sip the warm tea and recall the extraordinary day I’ve had. A whirlwind of mixed emotions—tingling excitement, happiness, and even pity—sweeps over me. And all of it, absolutely all of it, started because I broke a rule and craved an apple.
At 12:30 PM, after lunch, my place certainly wasn’t near the cellar for fruits and vegetables. Who would have thought I’d be there at that hour? Rosa, the little Roma girl and quick-handed helper in the kitchen, certainly didn’t expect it...
I was strolling leisurely in the sunlight, my eyes chasing butterflies and my lungs full of warm air, daydreaming about my fragrant apple, when I heard a short, muffled cry from the cellar. A woman’s voice, filled with pain and fear!
I hesitantly descended the first two steps and stopped. Though sunlight reached that far into the darkness, I certainly didn’t dare go further!
“Who’s there?” I asked quickly, before my courage could fail me.
In my mind, I prayed that no one would witness my fear, as it would be laughable if the daughter of the great General Atanasiu—decorated and celebrated—were seen trembling like a leaf in the wind at the mere thought of darkness and a faint voice.
Silence.
“Come out now, and I’ll spare you!” I added.
Nothing.
“If you don’t come out willingly, I’ll scream for my father!” I said, frustration boiling over. “Leave the girl alone!” I added, utterly convinced that something wicked was happening down there, with a man tormenting a woman. That’s what they always taught us at Școala Centrală—that a woman is a mother, a wife, and must be protected. She’s always the one who needs protection!
And yet, why was I playing the warrior now, when I, too, am a woman? The thought struck me, and I recoiled in fear.
Down below, there were sounds—footsteps. Someone was coming up! I clasped my hands at my throat and waited, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Rosa!
I hadn’t expected her. I exhaled in relief. She was pale as a ghost and trembling.
“Miss, please, I beg you, don’t tell anyone, miss, he’ll beat me badly,” she pleaded in her garbled way of speaking.
“He beats you?” I asked, alarmed. “Who, Rosa? Who would dare hit you? We’ll speak to my father, and no one will hurt you, don’t worry,” I said, trying to sound calm.
Rosa, however, grew almost hysterical before my eyes. Her pupils dilated in an instant, and her nostrils flared like those of a large animal.
“Rosa?” I asked, confused, reaching out to her.
She flinched back, letting go of her apron, and a few onions and potatoes tumbled out, scattering onto the floor. The movement drew my attention to her hands, from which blood was dripping.
“Rosa!” I cried. “You’re bleeding! Your hand—God Almighty!” I felt faint. “Sit down! Sit down!” I shouted.
“Miss, be quiet, I beg you—he’ll hear, and he’ll come and beat me,” she whispered, and somehow, through my own hysteria, I understood her. “I didn’t mean to, miss, I was hungry, miss! Forgive me, miss! I was so hungry!”
And with that, she darted past me, leaving behind the metallic scent of blood that clung to my nose and tongue.
Without thinking, I ran after her.
“Rosa, stop! You’re hurt! Stop, Rosa, no one will harm you! Rosa!”
She ran, turning toward the back of the house, heading for the small grove of trees where I was never allowed to venture. I forgot all about being a young lady and how I wasn’t supposed to behave this way—how I might get hurt, fall, ruin my face, and all the other endless rules. All I felt was Rosa’s terror that someone was going to beat her, and the blood streaming steadily from her hand, pumped by her frenzied heart.
I passed the trees. I shouted, she kept running.
Soon, I felt I couldn’t run any farther. My lungs were on fire, and stabbing pains under my ribs made me feel like I was going to be sick.
“Rosa!” I called one last time, panting heavily.
Rosa collapsed a few dozen meters ahead of me. God, give me strength, I prayed silently. I half-crawled, half-staggered until I reached her. She was gasping for air, and the blood was pouring worse than before. Her eyes were vacant, her face pale and covered in sweat.
“Rosa, you foolish girl,” I scolded her, my voice shaking with emotion. “Why did you run like a madwoman? Look where we are now—who’s going to help us?”
“Miss,” she replied between breaths, “please don’t tell… please don’t tell… he’ll beat me…”
“Who’s going to beat you, you foolish girl? I don’t understand anything!”
“The big master will beat me,” she said firmly.
I opened my eyes wide.
“Father?”
“Yes, miss, him, miss. Please don’t tell… he’ll beat me… please don’t tell!”
“Rosa, calm down. I won’t tell anyone! That’s enough now. Take a deep breath and tell me—why would Father beat you?”
“Because I stole, miss!”
“Onions and potatoes?” I asked, confused and shocked.
“Because I was hungry, miss,” she kept repeating like a broken record. “Because I was hungry!”
“Rosa, calm down! No one’s going to hurt you!” I shouted, nervous and overwhelmed. “Who hurt your hand?”
“It was me, miss, when I stole. I cut myself on a piece of metal near the potato sack. God saw me, and He’s angry at me, miss—that’s what happened. He punished me, and now the master will punish me too,” she sobbed hysterically.
“This is ridiculous! Father doesn’t hit anyone—ever!” I shouted back, exasperated, frightened, and confused.
From behind, a deep, resonant laugh startled me. I jumped, clinging to Rosa, and turned, trembling, to look up.
A young man stood there, with an untethered horse beside him and a laugh that seemed to ripple through the air, making my skin prickle. From my low vantage point, he looked majestic—a force of nature unleashed.
“The princess? Oh, that’s certain—she’s untouchable,” he said in a rough, husky voice once his laughter subsided. “But the rest of us? We’re nothing but a circus act to her father.” He locked eyes with me as he said it.
And what eyes they were! My God, it was as if all the beauty and mysteries of the world had taken refuge in them. A pure, intense blue that made me forget for a moment where I was. I wondered fleetingly what the world must look like through those magnificent windows. Surely, it must be more beautiful.
“Could it really be her? The one and only, the untouchable princess Alexandrina Atanasiu?” he asked, his tone laced with irony as he raised a dark eyebrow.
I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. The events of this day were too much, and I snapped. Anger surged through me, giving me newfound strength, and I stood up from the dirt without a word. I instinctively brushed myself off, and he laughed again.
But as I lifted my gaze to him, my warlike stance melted away, softening to the consistency of chocolate pudding. Up close, he was breathtaking. There was something wild and untamed about him—a raw, immense power that pulsed and vibrated, sending invisible waves that seemed to reach me. My heart danced, my blood sang, my thoughts scattered.
This was a sign. This was destiny!
“Sila,” came Rosa’s weak voice, pulling me out of my trance.
He dismounted from the horse, knelt down, and effortlessly pulled Rosa into his arms, lifting her over his shoulder before remounting with fluid ease.
“I’d say, see you again, princess, but if your father or that dragon Toma catches you stepping outside the yard, you’ll grow old and die chained to your bedroom door,” he mocked, laughing once more.
He grabbed the horse’s mane, squeezed it between his thighs, and turned it to leave. A sudden sadness swept over me at the thought of never seeing him again. Where were these feelings coming from?
“Luna,” I whispered.
He turned his head, raising an eyebrow. It seemed I wouldn’t hear his voice again, though I longed for it with all my heart.
“You called me Alexandrina Atanasiu. That was my mother’s name. She died on a full moon night when I was born. To ensure I would never forget her sacrifice, my father gave me her name, but he calls me Luna—so he’d never forget that night.”
He frowned, and somehow, it made him even more striking.
“As if he ever could,” he said quietly, then turned his head and rode off at a slow pace.
I stood tall, watching him, mesmerized, until he disappeared among the trees. My eyes filled with tears, stinging painfully. Why did I feel the urge to cry?
“Luna?” my father’s voice broke through, pulling me back to the dining room. I woke from the dream trembling, still holding my now-cold tea. Night had already fallen outside.
My father walked over and placed a hand on my forehead.
“No fever,” he said to himself.
Uncle Tiberiu and Toma, my fiancé, quickly entered the room behind him.
“Is she alright?” Toma asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Yes,” my father replied. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’ll go get Măriuca to prepare something to calm her,” he added before leaving the room.
“Dulcinea, are you alright?” Uncle leaned closer, concern in his voice.
“Yes, I am. Truly,” I replied, trying to sound composed. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Because you haven’t moved from here for almost three hours, my dear Dulcinea,” he said with a soft smile.
Măriuca rushed in, carrying the warm, comforting scent of sweet dough. Just then, the clock struck 8:00 PM. I stared at it in shock. Had I really been sitting here that long?
Măriuca gently took my hand and led me upstairs, treating me like a fragile invalid. Where had I been all this time? I wondered, bewildered. Then, in my mind, I saw those deep, burning blue eyes again, and a sense of calm washed over me. I had been daydreaming about him with my eyes wide open. Foolish girl that I am!
Măriuca helped me change and settled me into bed. She loosened my hair and began combing it gently, and I slowly drifted off to sleep. Those blue eyes followed me into my dreams…
