Harvest Time: A Royal Flush Short

Cardios
Kingdom of Khloris
Harvest Fields

Robelle shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted at the field, seeing Antonio casually talk with the other farmers. The man had opted for simpler wear, and Robelle watched as he laughed and assisted them in their harvesting.

No – rather, he was doing the harvesting himself. Robelle Florence watched, amazed, as he picked tomatoes and tended to the plants, carrying a large watering pail while a basket full of the red fruit was strapped to his back like a bag. She had earlier offered her help when he told her what he would be doing, but the King politely declined and told her that she’d like it more in the shade.

Contrary to his belief, Robelle preferred to be active. Although not as sporty as the other girls back in school, Robelle prided herself to be the most confident in sports of the four. She did wonderfully at soccer (although failed at swimming), and training long hours under the sun accustomed her to the heat.

Beside her, Clemente Benenati, Franco’s twin brother, was painting a lovely picture of the scenery with a carefree smile on his face. “You look like you  wish to join him, Lady Robelle,” Clemente observed. Robelle made a face.

“I’m willing to – and don’t call me Lady, please…plain old Robelle would do.”

“But King Alberto told us to address you with respect–”

“You’ll be respecting me more if you just call me Robelle,” the other pushed. Clemente made a face, swallowed, and then nodded. Robelle smiled. “No need to feel so bad about it, Clemente.”

“If you say so.” The male returned to painting and Robelle shook her head slowly, looking back at the field. Away, Franco was busy sorting the ripe tomatoes from the under and over. Albero still looked interested in what he was doing, and Robelle tilted her head as she continued watching. “You should join him,” Clemente suddenly suggested.

“Didn’t you hear me? He won’t let me,” Robelle tried. Clemente, however, stood up after setting his art materials down. “What are you doing?”

“He can be too noble sometimes,” the twin complained. He grabbed her arm and tugged lightly, “Come with me.”

Meanwhile, Alberto wiped the sweat off his forehead and squinted up at the sky. The day was just perfect for harvest – it wasn’t too hot nor was it too cold. Shortly thanking the gods for not cursing him with Gorlassar’s erratic weather patterns, he sighed happily and allowed himself to sit on the ground; the watering pail was set down while the bag of tomatoes remained still.

Harvesting during the right season was one of his ways to destress; Alberto found that having the castle to himself was less entertaining, less fun. All the work would just get to him and it would usually end up with Franco seeing him hiding away his chambers.

But when he was in the fields doing his thing, he automatically felt as if a weight was being lifted off his shoulders.

That was where he belonged – aside from the Khloris throne – in the fields.

What made it better was the fact that when he was there, he felt like a normal human being. There, he wasn’t recognized as much as Your Majesty – instead, he simply went by Alberto.

And he preferred that, usually.

Looking up at the sky, Alberto found himself looking back at the nearby gabezo where he had asked Robelle to stay with Clemente.

But to his surprise, they weren’t there. Only Clemente’s easel remained.

“Alberto! Where did Clemente go?” demanded Franco. The smaller man was scowling at the King, two baskets of sorted tomatoes at his side. “Che, the idiot promised that he’d help me with these stupid things!”

“I asked him to accompany Robelle–”

“Where’s Robelle now?” Alberto made a face and Franco exhaled. “Never mind. I’ll continue picking and sorting. Franco would just mess it up anyway if he tried to help me out,” the Head Knight grumbled, soon moving away once more. Alberto gave a relieved sigh, thankful that Franco’s fuse wasn’t set off.

He rose from the ground to resume harvesting, turning to a newly grown batch whose fruit looked ready to pick. “Enough tomatoes to keep Cardios alive,” he reminded himself.

And he started from square one.

* * * * *

Hours passed; Alberto had soon returned to the cstle after delivering the fresh stock to the marketplace. Bella, one of the main sellers, had thanked him and sent him off with his usual basket.

Usually, Alberto would get back to the castle, take a long bath, and would go downstairs to assist those preparing dinner. Initially, it had been weird – no one had ever helped them out, not even their own King. Eventually, time passed and they got used to it…so much, that they usually forgot that it was their King with them and not just someone named Alberto Felipe.

But on that day, when Alberto descended with his apron on and his hair tucked away, Clemente himself whisked him away from the kitchen doors and towards the dining area instead. “No cooking! It’s all ready,” Clemente explained.

“What – how? I’m usually the one who does the cooking,” Alberto replied. His face shifted into one of confusion, “Unless they started without me…”

“Never mind that,” Clemente urged. They reached the dining room, “Don’t let Robelle keep waiting!” Alberto blinked, nodded, and eventually discarded the cooking preparation materials. The scent of well-seasoned food filled the air.

And Clemente was right – siting near Alberto’s usual spot was Robelle, who was drinking calmly from a glass. “Took you a while,” she teased. Alberto turned a little red.

“I’m sorry, I had a lot of errands to run after harvest,” he explained, taking a seat. “This season is heavy – which is good – but I had to harvest, deliver, and come back here.” Alberto took a roll of bread and took a hungry bite. Robelle merely smirked amusedly, watching. “Don’t tease,” Alberto managed after swallowing.

“I’m not.”

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

Alberto nearly whined. “That look.” Faking a hurt expression, Robelle set her face into a disappointed expression. It neary made Alberto wither in his seat.

“You’re rude.”

“How am I rude?”

“Telling that to the lady who helped prepare supper, Your Majesty?” Alberto gaped. “Some thanks. I bet Jacques is more polite,” she sighed, but seeing the King fluster and redden was already enough.

“Why did you–”

Robelle reached out and pinched the man’s cheek.

“You worked hard. You worked in the fields with the people. You do your best to make me feel comfortable,” Robelle explained, reaching for a slice of apple with her free hand. Alberto gave a timid smile, swallowing the bread. “You deserve this. Let yourself enjoy being 'spoiled' for once.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t get too cocky.” Robelle rolled her eyes, shoved the apple slice into the King’s mouth, and sat back down on the dining chair, “And just eat.”