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