Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 44

NaNoWriMo 2015 & The Autumn Prince

I haven’t officially participated in NaNoWriMo for two years. Instead I would attempt smaller projects for Camp NaNo, none of which I completed; I always seemed to give up right when I gained some momentum.

This year, though, it seems my Muse really took a liking to me; why not give it a try?

For those of you who don’t know, NaNoWriMo (or National Novel Writing Month) is a worldwide challenge for writers. The goal? Finish a novel in a month, specifically the month of November. If you win you get prizes and the satisfaction of having completed a book.

Now, I don’t pretend I’m going to finish this book in a month–though my brain seems wired to write more than planned in a sitting. I do hope to make progress and work out some plot issues.

If you’ve followed my Twitter feed for the past two days, you know I had a hard time deciding which novel to write for NaNo. From the start, I wanted to expand on The Autumn Prince. However, I kept reading advice from published authors saying that once you finish a story, you should put it away for a month.

The thing is, though, The Autumn Prince was a short story. What I wrote of it didn’t even scratch 14k. So I don’t think it counts, and for NaNoWriMo I decided to write the novel adaptation of The Autumn Prince.

Not only that, but no two writers are the same. Maybe these published authors need to step away from their work for a while; I find my Muse works differently.

It felt silly to toss aside The Autumn Prince when it’s already so vivid in my mind; why push to the back burner something that’s almost ready? I had considered writing some other plot bunnies which also had potential, but now I’m going to wait–perhaps even try another serial with The Lady of Myrtle Lighthouse. 

Right now, though, I’m making my short story into a book.

For those who are interested in The Autumn Prince, the 2k I wrote so far reveals several new things. Spoiler: We’ll get some scenes from Winston’s POV. Also, there’s more to Kelsea than we thought…more than even she knows.

And Caspar has got a temper in the novel. Of course he does. He’s only going to be awake for a few weeks.

Are you participating in NaNo? Do you have a plot already set, or are you freewriting?

Filed under: Life, NaNoWriMo 2015, Writing Tagged: AutumnPrinceNovel, NaNoWriMo, the autumn prince, writing

A Kiss Good-Night – The Autumn Prince Finale

He’d always read of beautiful kisses, but never thought he’d be kissed.

It was not passionate or desperate, it was not fiery or hungry. It was sad and careful, as if she were afraid he would crumble at the touch of her lips, and she was probably right.

He tasted the salt of her tears and thought that some of the tears might even be his own. He felt a burst of emotion with this kiss which contrasted so abruptly from how he’d felt the last few days that it made him dizzy.

Her curtain of auburn hair, the one he’d admired so many times, covered him like a blanket; nothing in that moment could possibly go wrong. He forgot that all his subjects were dead, forgot the years lived alone in this haunted palace, forgot fighting with a barn owl and forgot the hurt from the Halloween party.

“Promise you’ll wake up,” Kelsea begged, pulling him close. “I don’t think I can live the rest of my life knowing you’re here but not responding.”

“I always wake up,” he said, playing with a lock of her hair. “Always. And with you waiting for me, I’ll wake up faster.”

“I don’t know much about you,” she continued through her sobs, “but I love you, Caspar, I love you.”

He would have known, even if she hadn’t said it; he finally remembered what it felt like to be loved.

“I love you, Lady Kelsea,” he whispered in her ear, and closed his eyes.

~

The rest of that evening slipped from his consciousness like the life slipped through his fingers. He knew Kelsea didn’t go anywhere; she curled up beside him on the bed and held him tight, providing warmth when he felt like he was being pulled away by fate. Winter was coming early this year; he knew that the moment he drifted out of consciousness, he wouldn’t be back for a long time.

He thought he heard her speaking to Winston, and he thought he heard her sing soft lullabies into ear, though he knew she didn’t really want him to fall asleep. But this year he fell asleep feeling different.

He fell asleep with hope in his long-empty heart. Hope was a beautiful thing; he knew that the next time he opened his eyes to reign over another winter, he would not be alone. He trusted that Kelsea would keep her promise, and they’d run through the corn fields together like two young people in love.

So when he felt he could not longer fight the sleep, he allowed himself to drift off in Kelsea’s arms, feeling her careful hands caress his face, not worried about whether she’d be here when he woke up. Not worried about what would happen to this place during his unconsciousness.

The Autumn Court was no longer dead. There was a Princess to keep watch while he slept, and that knowledge would bring him sweet dreams.

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, serial, the autumn prince

Before the Sleep

“How does it feel to be a princess?” Emily asked.

After the coronation, they had all gathered around Caspar’s bed to snack on leftover Halloween candy and discuss things that shouldn’t be real but were very much alive.

“Not very different.” Kelsea played with the hem of her dress, watching as the red fluttered from hue to hue with more grace than Winston’s wings.

Caspar listened to it all in dazed silence. He kept gazing at the sky outside, and then paying attention to his quickly deteriorating strength, and wondering how long he had left before he fell into that sleep that would claim him for months.

Emily got out her phone and sighed. “It’s getting late, I should go. It was nice hanging out at your place, Caspar. Thanks for letting me in.”

“You kind of invited yourself in,” he said with a half-smile.

“I let her in,” Kelsea reminded him. “And I’m princess now.”

“There you go.” Em got up and false curtsied, smirking. “See you later.”

“Yes,” mumbled Caspar. I hope so, he added silently.

“When you wake up next year, we can go to the fair,” Kelsea said. “Or visit corn fields and carve pumpkins. There’s so much to do around here in the autumn. I’m glad to be Autumn Princess,” she added, smiling.

“I’m glad that you are,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want to have anyone else.”

Both Kelsea and Winston watched Caspar with that look of pity he hated. He wasn’t dying—he was just on the verge of a very long sleep. Finally Kelsea turned away to gather empty candy wrappers and stuff them into her purse.

He thought he saw a single tear creep down her cheek, but didn’t have the strength to reach out and wipe it off.

“Isn’t there any way to delay this?” she asked Winston, not looking up.

“Not that I’m aware of,” replied the owl sadly. “But, Your Highness—” Kelsea looked up sharply at having been addressed that way. “—Caspar won’t be around for a great deal of the year. Now you are Autumn Princess, and you can watch the grounds for him.”

“It won’t be the same,” she said, voice breaking. “Not if he’s gone, or—or up here and asleep the whole time. There has to be a way to undo this, a loophole—”

“Kelsea,” said Caspar, hearing the plea in his own voice, “don’t dwell on it so much. I’m trying not to, and I’m the one who’s going to sleep.”

She pursed her trembling lips and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “But next year we’re talking about this more.”

He doubted it would lead to much, but nodded weakly. “Agreed.”

A loaded silence settled between them. Winston said something about being hungry and vanished out the window.

Staring at Kelsea’s beautiful tear-stained face, Caspar wished he could give her a happier ending–even though it wasn’t really the end.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, voice breaking.

He nodded and swallowed. “I miss you already.”

That was when she leaned forward to kiss him.

No. No no no no no it cannot be ALMOST OVER,

Tomorrow is the final chapter.

Let me just curl up and cry…

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, the autumn prince, the barn owl

Princess Kelsea’s Coronation

“A false coronation?” Winston screeched, when Caspar told him the plan the next morning. “But, Your Highness—”

“Caspar,” he corrected him irritably.

“Caspar,” spat the owl, “it’s so blatantly against our tradition! I don’t think I can do it without going up in flames! Don’t you care about the memory of the people who used to live on this very land?”

“I’m not going to live for the dead anymore!” he snapped. “Kelsea wants to be the princess, and I’m not going to tell her no.”

“But she’s not even going to be your bride,” cried the owl, his voice loud with despair. “What’s the point—”

“What’s the point of being prince of a kingdom of dead dreams? Winston, if I have to live here alone until the end of the world, I shall do it as I choose. Kelsea is coming in less than an hour, and when she does you’re going to be a good—erm—a good owl and do the coronation. Understand?”

He did not turn to look at the owl, fearing that he would see disappointment in its wide yellow eyes. All he wanted was to make the person he loved most in the world happy, if it was the last thing he did in months. He didn’t have a guarantee that she’d really be back next year when he woke up, so he wanted the last memory Kelsea had of him to be a good one.

He couldn’t do much to thank her for the day of adventure before the fatigue had gripped him. All he could do was try and create the illusion that her childhood dream of being a princess should come true, and if that meant making his friend the owl angry, so be it.

To his relief, the owl didn’t argue any further. Winston fell silent, hiding his face beneath his wing; Caspar suspected that if owls cried, Winston was crying now.

~

He hadn’t expected Kelsea to show up with Emily.

“How come she gets to be fake princess and I don’t even get a title out of charity?” the young lady demanded as a greeting—but then stopped when she saw him. Perhaps he looked like he was on his deathbed. He knew that this time of the year made him go pale and lose a lot of weight.

When Kelsea stepped in after her, he understood why Emily was here. She was wearing the Autumn Princess’s dress again, looking radiant as ever. Caspar steeled himself and made an effort to prop himself against the pillow in order to get a good view.

“I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling,” Kelsea said at last, and he realized she was crying. Emily took her friend’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

Caspar didn’t like pity, so instead he turned to the owl. “Winston!”

“Winston is a lovely name for an owl!” said Emily, a clear effort to sound quirky again.

“It’s my name as of yesterday,” said the owl, and she screamed, scrambling backwards.

“Did it talk?” Emily demanded.

“I did,” said Winston, looking up, “and now I have to talk more than I want to. But never mind.” He spread his wings, fluttering across the room to perch on the foot of Caspar’s bed. “Why don’t you dry your tears, Lady Kelsea? You’re being crowned, after all.”

She smiled through her tears. “I don’t have a crown.”

“Neither do I,” said Caspar. “We have the entire forest surrounding us.”

“Like a big, giant daisy chain,” Em said breathlessly.

“And the forest is currently golden,” continued Caspar, “like the golden crowns from your faery tales.”

“Without further ado,” said Winston, raising his voice. “Lady Kelsea, if you would please close your eyes.”

She did, blinking more tears away in the process.

“I, newly dubbed royal adviser Winston the Barn Owl, do hereby crown you Princess of the Autumn Court to rule alongside the beloved prince Caspar of the Autumn Court. May you live long and prosper, and may your days be golden as the trees we claim as our pride and legacy.”

He then bowed his head, signaling the end of his speech. His words left a thick power in the air, and Caspar smiled.

It was finished, and he finally had an Autumn Princess.

Is this the happy ending? Can it get any better? Will it interrupt Caspar’s sleep cycle?

Well…no.

That’s why the story isn’t ending here. That’s why it’s going to be a series. But first I have released it as a faery tale, and I can’t wait to edit it into a little book.

There are two chapters left to go. Thank you for being with me this far! And once again, if you enjoyed the story, tell your friends–share the link–help spread the word!

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, the autumn prince, the barn owl

Do Owls Feel Sadness?

Even when the sun had begun to set, Kelsea stayed. She talked to Winston as if they hadn’t gone off to a rough start, somehow addressing him like a friend even though Caspar knew this was far from her idea of normalcy.

“The Winter Queen will wake up soon,” Winston explained. “It’s nothing of her control. This is simply how the world works—when one falls asleep, the other wakes.”

“Except her reign is longer,” Kelsea mumbled, glancing at Caspar with a sad smile. “Do you know if she’s nice?”

“She dominates over the coldest period of the year,” said Winston, “so rumor has it her personality is quite icy.”

Kelsea huddled up at the foot of the bed, wrapped in one of the spare blankets. She gazed out the window at the purple sky. “This is still so very odd to me,” she said, “knowing you two exist. A talking owl and a lonely prince. It reminds me of the stories I used to hear in kindergarten, except they never talk about how sad life in a faery tale can be.” She then turned to the owl with a frown and asked, “Do owls feel sadness?”

Caspar also looked at Winston, interested. The owl had always been such a nuisance that he never thought if it had feelings of its own.

“One cannot be wise,” said the owl at last, “without feeling sadness.” And then, before either of them could press the matter, “I’m feeling something now, though—hunger. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to catch a mouse or a bird. I was a pleasure talking to you, Lady Kelsea.”

She smiled, but did not correct him. “Good-bye, Winston.”

With a hasty flap of wings the owl was soon out of sight, leaving the two of them alone. Caspar and Kelsea gazed at each other, feeling the truth of their fate envelop them like a fog: Their days were numbered, and he would be surprised if he woke up tomorrow at all.

“You know,” Kelsea began at last, “I made it sound like being princess would be the worst fate in the world. I didn’t mean to come off so…insulting.”

He opened his mouth to say her apology was unnecessary, then remembered how it had hurt to have his hopes crushed and decided to say nothing at all. There was still a rebellious edge to him that wished she would have accepted the offer.

“Most little girls dream of being princesses,” Kelsea continued, picking at a loose thread on her blanket, “but when we grow up we never really think it could actually happen. I think I was just surprised, Caspar. Come on—the story you told me was just plain crazy. I had seen a palace materialize out of thin air. I’d been yelled at by a talking owl.”

“What are you trying to say?” he asked slowly.

She looked up, and even in the diminishing light her eyes were gorgeous. “I don’t think being princess would be such a bad thing,” Kelsea said. She shrugged. “You said that ball gown was made for the Autumn Princess, so if I’m going to respect your tradition—in theory I was the Autumn Princess that night.”

“I didn’t hold you to it,” he said hastily. “I don’t want to force you to be anything.”

“You said that ball gown was designed for the person who was to marry the Autumn Prince.” She put it in such a blunt way that he found himself at a loss for words. “I’m not ready to marry anyone, but I wouldn’t mind being Princess…in sentiment.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s not like there would be many to attend the wedding,” he mumbled bitterly. “Not worth upholding that tradition.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Kelsea said softly. “Just…look, I get it. When you only have a few weeks to live, you rush things. I like you, Caspar. I couldn’t marry you now, but I like you. That’s why I’ll be here next year, all right?”

He shivered, not sure if it was the cold wind or the honesty in her words causing him to react that way, and nodded.

Kelsea hesitated, playing with a long lock of that perfect auburn hair. Then she looked him in the eye and whispered, “Can I still be princess?”

Would you let Kelsea be princess in sentiment, or would you hold strictly to tradition? Is Caspar lonely enough to negotiate the most important role the Autumn Princess would play? At this point he’s thrown all traditions aside, so I wouldn’t be surprised!

With three chapters to go, I share this one a bit sadly…but the story isn’t over!

Share if you enjoyed this!

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, serial, the autumn prince, the barn owl

Winston the Barn Owl

The weather always dropped very abruptly after the first of November. The day after his adventure with Kelsea, Caspar woke in his chamber feeling a chill deep in his bones; he gazed at the ceiling, hating this familiar sensation that his bones were heavier and he couldn’t move.

Faithful as always, the Barn Owl screeched, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“You need a name,” said Caspar suddenly, turning to the owl. Since accepting to be called Caspar for the rest of his life, he’d begun to question this silly practice of living nameless as a faery tale. “How have I grown up calling you the Barn Owl all my life?”

“Why, because that’s what I am,” said the owl, looking puzzled. “We call each other by our titles.”

“But you’re more than an owl,” said Caspar. “You’re faithful, wise, and energetic. You deserve a name of your very own.”

There was a pause. “Well, Your Highness,” said the owl, “if you desire to give me a name other than my title, it would be my duty to accept.”

Caspar turned to the ceiling once more, glad to have something to do now in his moment of weakness. He could not get up and make physical effort, but he could still think and reason.

Sometimes the owl would fly to the library when he reached this phase of the year and bring him back books to keep his mind entertained. He turned to the bedside table and read the spine of a book sitting there. It read Winston Churchill.

“I shall call you Winston,” he decided, grunting as he tried to sit up. “Everyone needs a name.”

“Something tells me it’s the young lady who convinced you of that,” said the owl, now Winston. “You didn’t used to bother for that sort of thing.”

“I’m bored with living in such a vague universe,” Caspar replied. “And by the way, call me Caspar from now on. No more of that Your Highness. I don’t feel like king of anything because all my subjects perished, and I don’t want to be king of the dead.”

Winston looked horrified (or as horrified as an owl could look.) “You can’t be rejecting tradition, Your Highness! This isn’t how things should be!”

“If I’m truly king of this empty palace, I choose to make some changes from now on. My name is Caspar, and your name is Winston, and…” He trailed off, gazing longingly out the window, wishing he could go back to town and try more of that delicious ice cream. “And I would like to change everything about my life,” he finished. “I would like true freedom, and friendship, and family. Why me, Winston? Why was I cursed to live here alone and die alone, again and again, every year?”

“For the same reason I was given the gift of speech,” said Winston. “I don’t know, but I don’t question it. I have an advantage over other owls. They’re no less wise than I, but they can’t express themselves vocally. So I do not take my ability for granted.”

“Your gift is an advantage,” said Caspar unhappily. “Mine is not a gift, but a trap. Kelsea told me she’d come back to see me, you know, when autumn comes around.” It felt strange to say her name without the title Lady, but he wanted to respect her wishes.

“Don’t bind her to a promise like that,” Winston warned him. “She has a life of her own to live, too.”

“And what of mine? What even is the point of my existence?”

Before Winston could reply, there was a soft knock at the door. Though Caspar was surprised—no one was ever around to knock at the door—he suspected who it was. “Come in,” he called, grimacing at how feeble his voice sounded.

The door opened and Kelsea peered in, holding a paper bag. “I brought cupcakes,” she announced. Then, frowning, “You feeling under the weather?”

Caspar hesitated, glancing once more out the window. “My time is running out,” he whispered at last.

Kelsea said nothing. She crossed the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, handing him the paper bag.

“Then let’s play some chess,” she said, drawing from her purse what he now knew was a tablet, “and plan what we’ll do when you wake up again.”

We have started the final week of The Autumn Prince! In preparation for NaNo, I am keeping my big plans for the story in my Secret Notebook–but there are plans. Thank you for being with me this month and reading all these chapters! If you’ve just joined in now, find the chapters in the menu under Novels and The Autumn Prince.

A lot has changed in my life since I started publishing this series. When it’s back to personal blogging, I’ll fill you in!

As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please share it!

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: serial, the autumn prince, the barn owl

A Tentative Promise

“So,” Kelsea said, as he drew a chair for her at a table outdoors overlooking the busy street, “tell me about your talking owl.”

Caspar laughed. “Oh, the owl. He’s all I have left. When the kingdom was thriving, he worked as lookout for enemy attacks. He witnessed every death,” he added with a sad lurch of his stomach. “He is loyal to me, I suppose, because I’m all there is left of the place he used to adore.”

“Or because you’re the prince,” Kelsea said in a whisper, smiling at him.

“He doesn’t respect me all the time,” Caspar said, peering at the ice cream she’d helped him choose, one she called brownie fudge. “Mocks me sometimes.”

“It’s good to have a friend who doesn’t walk on eggshells around you,” Kelsea said. “It means he doesn’t lie. He’s real with you, and he’s exactly as you see him, completely honest.”

“Ahhh.” Caspar nodded slowly, frowning. “Well, that describes the Barn Owl.”

“So he’s your best friend,” Kelsea said. “When a friend gets on your nerves but you still miss them when they’re gone, it means they’re your best friend.”

He looked at the cars passing by, choked with a sudden longing to be able to stay with these people forever where there was life and noise. The forest was beautiful, but he’d ceased to see its beauty long ago, and all he wanted was to escape and live a life as free and unpredictable as this traffic.

“I wish I didn’t know,” he mumbled at last, “when it’s time for me to go to sleep again. It’s like knowing when I’m going to die, except it happens constantly. It is an agony I endure every year, and now that I see there’s more to the world than my palace, I want more than anything to be like you, Lady Kelsea.”

She kept her eyes on the table, and he regretted having darkened the mood. “You could start by dropping the title,” she said at last, “and just calling me Kelsea.”

“Kelsea,” Caspar whispered. “I’m sorry. It’s habit.”

“You could try to build a life around that routine,” she suggested. “So when it’s time for you to wake up, you put on the regular clothes and come into town and just…live.”

“But where would I go?”

“I’ll be here to hang out with you, Caspar. We’ll do fun stuff like this. I don’t want you to spend your waking hours wandering empty corridors.” She looked up, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Do you think that would give you something to smile about?”

He held her hand, wishing with all his heart that it could be enough to see her a few weeks per year. What would happen during the time he slept, and she lived on like a normal person? She would walk away from him, even if she returned every year to have ice cream.

“Yes,” he said anyway, for the alternative was far worse. “I’d like that. Thank you, La—erm, I mean, Kelsea.”

She smiled and nodded, busying herself with the ice cream. Caspar looked at the street and wished.

A few weeks with her would release him from his trap—if only temporarily.

What would you do if you knew you only had a few days awake per year? Caspar is forever living on wishes and dreams…and hopes.

But maybe there’ll be a happy ending.

If you liked this chapter, please share it!

-Mariella

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, serial, the autumn prince

The Prince Goes Clothes-Shopping

“Lady Kelsea,” he said, watching her drive the car into town with expert hands and wondering how she could maneuver such a complicated vehicle, “I don’t have the gold your people accept in shopping.”

She giggled. “Shut up. I’m buying you stuff. It’s the least I can do, after you loaned me that beautiful ball gown.”

“It wasn’t a loan,” he argued. “I gave it to you.”

Kelsea didn’t respond. Instead she fumbled with some knobs in front of her and said, “Here. Play with the radio until you find a song you like. I bet you’ve never had one of your own before.”

He met her gaze, amber eyes turning fiery in the light of the sun, and smiled. A great deal of his anger from earlier that day vanished in the presence of that smile. She was so flawlessly the image of an Autumn Princess, but the Barn Owl was right—he could not be hasty with a lady’s heart. He could not force her to be something if she did not want it.

Cautiously he reached for the knob and turned it. Ear-splitting music filled the car, causing him to flinch. Kelsea shrieked and turned a different knob, crying, “That was the volume!”

His heart raced and ears hurt. “That’s supposed to be music?” he demanded.

“Yes! I don’t know what medieval stuff you grew up with, but this is what we listen to today.”

The Prince—Caspar—laughed. He was already beginning to enjoy this adventure. Perhaps he didn’t need to keep her as a princess after all; being in her presence was enough.

~

“Enjoying one last day of Halloween?” They were at the cash register, where the woman taking money from Kelsea smiled at Caspar over the table.

“He takes Halloween very seriously.” Kelsea took the shopping bags and then handed them to Caspar. “Go to the dressing room and put on something modern. Holiday is over and we have an ice cream date.”

Caspar peered into the shopping bag, which was loaded with clothing exactly like what he observed every day during his obscure walks in the forest. “It’s going to be strange to look like everyone else,” he mumbled, as they made their way to the back of the shop where Kelsea said the dressing rooms were.

“Hey.” He stopped and looked at her; she was smiling again. “You do not look like everyone else. All right?”

He felt that flutter again, standing in front of her where the sun hit her directly through a window. Regardless to what had happened the night before, the rebellious part of him clung to a hope that maybe…just maybe…

“I can’t accept these clothes if you don’t keep the ball gown,” he said at last, in a voice quiet enough that only she would be able to hear.

Kelsea bit her lip, glancing at the ceiling as she thought about his condition. “Does that require of me a wedding?” she asked at last with a smirk.

He returned the smile, trying to ignore the strengthened wave of fatigue that caused the room to spin. He knew it had nothing to do with her beauty and everything to do with his time running out. “No, Lady Kelsea. It is a gift.”

She watched him with concern; perhaps he looked ill as she felt. “Okay,” she whispered, touching his arm. “Deal. Now go get modern and we’ll try the double chocolate ice cream down the street.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded and turned away. As much as that rebellious part of him would like to keep her forever, he knew somehow that he had a part of her heart, and having lived a life in complete solitude, that was enough for him.

With seven posts left to go, we are approaching the end of our serial–and a possible happy ending. It’s been a lovely month for me and I can’t wait to do this again with another story! Having an audience follow Caspar’s adventure made me realize how deep my instinct is to be a storyteller.

It made me realize that faery tales never get old. It’s been refreshing to write one; I can’t wait to expand it into a novel and possible series. You have all encouraged me so much with your support, sharing the chapters and feeling for my characters. If you’ve been reading so far and would like special mention in the novella, please do comment!

If you just came in towards the end of the story, you’ll be able to find all the chapters in the header under Novels and The Autumn Prince. Also, don’t forget to share this chapter if you enjoyed it!

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, reading, serial, the autumn prince, writing

The Prince Explains his Month-Long Sleep

“So…so you’re going to be asleep for months?”

The Prince gazed out at the forest, unable to look at her directly without losing more of his heart. “My reign is short,” he replied. “Only a few weeks.”

“What kind of a life is that?” she exclaimed.

“It’s not a life.” The Prince shook his head. “When my nanny died, I woke up one year and found myself alone in this cavernous palace no one can see. It’s not a life, it’s a curse. With all my subjects dead, I don’t even have a purpose to stay awake those few weeks life loans me.”

Kelsea paced, running a shaky hand through her hair. He hadn’t expected for her to react this way to his story, but found it oddly refreshing to have someone else know; for once he was not alone with an owl. Someone knew of his story and, cruel as it might seem, he was interested in seeing how she would cope with it.

A selfish part of him wanted someone to care for how he felt, to take some interest in his fate and worry for him just a little. Loneliness had a tendency to make one selfish.

“Caspar,” she said at last, voice hoarse, “I don’t even know what to tell you. This…I don’t know what to say.”

He felt a wave of irritation. “You don’t have to say anything. You asked a question and I answered it. Nothing you say will make a difference.”

Kelsea looked stung. “Can’t we be friends? I do care about you, even if you don’t think so. It’s a bit of a stretch to spring the whole princess thing on me after three days, but I care about you, Caspar.” She paused. “I just don’t understand what you want from me!”

He recoiled, too weak at the moment to look her in the eye as she rounded on him in desperation. Both of them were tense and snappish, though each for a different reason—he was tense because he didn’t know how to be in love, and she was tense because she had the misfortune of meeting him.

“I don’t know,” mumbled the Prince at last, deciding that if they’d gone this far, he may as well keep being honest. “I suppose I wanted to…feel something. I wanted to break the routine of waiting for my weeks to run out every single year. I wanted to be loved…” He trailed off, looking up guiltily. “Or perhaps to love. I feel nothing, Lady Kelsea. You…you made me feel something for the first time in years. You gave me hope, and I grasped onto it as if it could possibly save me.”

Kelsea closed her eyes at the impact of his words. She crossed her arms, breathing slowly. “This is unreal. But it’s real,” she added to herself. Then, to the Prince, “It’s not fair to you. I’m so sorry, Caspar. I’m sorry I hurt you without knowing the whole story, without taking the time to listen to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, feeling hollow. “I was too forward in assuming you could ever possibly love someone like me.”

“No, don’t do that.” She took a step closer to him, amber eyes intense. “Don’t blame yourself. This is nobody’s fault. But…but you don’t deserve to spend your life alone in this palace.” Kelsea hesitated; their gazes locked, and she extended a trembling hand. “Come with me. We’ll go into town and have some fun. You’re a kid, Caspar…you deserve to have fun.”

He stared at her hand, unable to forget the deep pain he had felt because of her earlier. “I don’t belong in your society except on Halloween.”

She smiled. “All we need is to get you some up-to-date clothing, and then we can do whatever we want for the rest of the autumn. Come on, Caspar. We’ll go shopping and then have ice cream. There’s this place downtown people travel miles to visit. Let’s start over.”

Despite the hurt he felt, the Prince didn’t want to reject her offer. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle wandering the palace alone if he let her walk away. Hesitating, he took her hand, but instead of kissing it merely held it in both of his, hoping that his firm grip would convey an apology.

Something in that moment changed; he realized that the moment he stepped into town with Kelsea, he would no longer be nameless. He would have new clothes and he would need a name.

Days ago, she had named him. He was Caspar.

Where there is understanding, there is hope. Maybe Kelsea isn’t ready to be the princess yet…but the Prince sure needs a friend! He’s been lonely for so long.

If you enjoyed this chapter or any of the others, help a storyteller and share on social media! One share makes a huge difference!

I hope October has treated you well so far!

-Mariella Hunt

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: kelsea, reading, serial, the autumn prince

The Doubtful Princess Returns + Introducing the Academy of Media Arts!

The Prince had thought he was accustomed to loneliness, but Kelsea’s absence left a brand new, painful tear in his heart.

He wandered the palace corridors, listening to his own footsteps echo in the wind. He leaned out and gazed at the red trees, taking in the first day of November with melancholy he’d never felt in his life.

Books in the library spoke of love, but no matter how much he read about the mysterious, magical feeling, nothing had prepared him to feel it and then have it rejected. He felt as if he’d given Kelsea part of his heart, and when he walked away he forgot to ask for it back.

Worst of all, he didn’t want it back. He wanted her to come back.

The Barn Owl followed him from place to place, watching him suffer in respectful silence. The Prince appreciated that the owl refrained from offering scathing advice today, when the wound had not healed and every move he made opened it for fresh blood to spill out. He knew he left trails of agony behind him everywhere he went.

After hours of wandering, he found himself in the chamber where the now empty trunk was stored. The dress was gone, Kelsea’s clothing folded neatly in its place. The Prince hesitated, then reached inside and grabbed her shirt.

Why couldn’t she have taken it? Why did she leave this reminder of her to break him even more? He buried his face in the shirt, inhaling her scent—incense and lavender—then felt the unfamiliar anger boil up inside of him.

He was not angry at Kelsea, or the owl, or even himself. He was angry at life. Autumn would end in just a few days, and when the Winter Queen reclaimed her throne he would go to sleep for months until his reign resumed next year; he would go to sleep with his heart still bleeding, and he knew he would go to sleep holding this shirt.

It was all he had left of the traitorous hope he’d dared to feel for two blessed days.

Slamming the trunk closed, he sat on it and clutched at the shirt with all his might, breathing slowly. Solitude surrounded him like winter frost; he felt the energy drain from his body, because his time was almost up, the cycle beginning again and the month-long sleep threatening.

“I only hope,” he whispered to himself, “that she shamed Lady Samantha, like she wanted to.” He closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling the familiar fatigue begin to creep up his body, slowly like poison.

It would take days, but the poison would eventually claim him.

He listened to the whistling of the wind, sadness almost tangible in his chest like a heavy stone that kept him from moving. Perhaps he would go to sleep right here, curl up on the ground with this shirt and let the Winter Queen take her throne early. He had nothing left to wait around for.

“Your Highness,” said the owl suddenly, an alarmed screech.

The Prince started and scrambled to his feet, dropping the shirt. Kelsea stood at the entrance to the chamber, the Autumn Princess’s ball gown folded neatly over one arm. Her eyes were red and swollen as if she’d been crying as well.

“Do I send her away?” asked the Barn Owl shrilly. “She has come in without asking for an audience!”

“She doesn’t need an audience,” breathed the Prince, though he took a step back. To Kelsea he said, “I told you I don’t want the dress.”

“But I don’t want to keep it,” she said, her voice breaking. “Not without the chance to talk to you…alone.”

She took a hesitant step forward, holding out the beautiful gown for him to take it back, but he did not want to. It was like he didn’t want her to give him his heart back; he didn’t want the gown back. That would be symbolic of the end, and some rebellious part of him still clung to hope.

He swallowed, nodding once. “Very well,” choked the Prince. “We can talk.”

Kelsea realized he wasn’t going to take the gown back, and hugged it to her chest once more. She paused, playing with words in her mind, but could not seem to think of any; he saw a tear slide down her cheek, and battled the urge to wipe it away.

“Let’s go to the tower,” said the Prince at last, feeling a bit faint. “I need fresh air.”

Kelsea nodded, placing the gown carefully on top of the trunk where the Prince had been sitting. He wanted to gather her close and take from her any pain she might feel, but was hurting too much himself to do anything but lead her up the winding stairs to a tower overlooking the forest.

That was when he looked her in the eye and waited. Waited. The wind shrieked around them for her to talk already.

She took a deep breath and asked in a whisper, “What does it mean to be Princess?”

Just like that, there is a glimmer of hope…and despite how he wished never to feel hope again, I think the Prince needs this. Perhaps Kelsea will be able to think clearly now that the ball is over. Maybe there’ll be a happy ending.

I am honored to be collaborating with the Academy of Media Arts starting November. They will be guest posting every two weeks to keep you up to date on their epic mission. Want to know more?

Academy of Media Arts travels doing physical workshops around the world, but has a strong focus on online workshops. We believe that talent doesn’t depend on location – and so many people who live away from big cities have less opportunity to learn industry-standard skills in film and photography. What most people don’t know is that the same skills used to create Lord of the Rings, Avatar, and other visually stunning movies can be done on your personal laptop from home. We’re here to disrupt the notion that these skills can only be learned in a prestigious university – and to connect you with our industry contacts to secure your place in the film and entertainment world.

Check out their workshops here and their website! I’ll be reviewing the videos soon!

Filed under: The Autumn Prince Tagged: AMA, kelsea, serial, the autumn prince, the barn owl