Princess Moments

THE autumn princess

By Hero Duchesne

Callie wrapped herself in the chunky oversized red blanket she’d handknit for this day and curled up on the couch. It was officially autumn, the best season of all.

Never mind that it was hot outside, and never mind that the kingdom hadn’t had an actual autumn in as long as anyone could remember. Callie knew what autumn should be like. How it should look. How it should feel. And so every year, no matter the weather, she transformed her little cabin into a testament to that season.

This year too. She’d filled her beloved home with every autumnal thing imaginable. Shades of red, gold, and orange were displayed. Boughs of bright leaves, aromatic candles, a crackling fireplace, soup simmering on the stove, tea steeping in a pot. Her blankets and cozy socks were all out as well. It was cluttered, perhaps, but it was beautiful.

Callie reached for her book and snuggled down even farther. Could an evening be any more perfect? Book, blanket, colors, tea. Perfection.

“I knew it!” came a laughing voice as the front door eased open.

Callie looked up to find her best friend Liza grinning at her.

“I told Leo I’d find you ‘in autumn’ already.”

Callie smiled back. “You know me too well. Come in and join me.”

Liza did just that, rifling through the blankets until she found her favorite before settling in across from Callie. Conversation wove through the room, and Callie smiled again. This really was the best day of the year.

* * *

Worst day of the year. Again. Every year.

Prince Dreich leaned his head against the stone wall, exhausted. His brother Aestes was being cheeky and difficult, per usual. Dreich would have to go back in a moment and continue negotiating with him, but this short break was welcome.

He loved his brother. Really, he did. Everyone loved Aestes. How could you not love the summer prince? All that warmth, that freedom. Oh, Aestes was a bright delight.

Exactly the opposite of Dreich, some might say. And, yes, Dreich supposed he could sometimes be a bit gloomier. Not that he enjoyed it. He certainly hadn’t asked to be the winter prince. He didn’t like having to coop people up inside, usher in snowstorms and rain and flurries. Well, he did like rain. And he loved snow. The point was, he wasn’t trying to punish people with them. But someone had to be the adult. The world needed seasons. There couldn’t just be summer all the time.

And Aestes knew that as well as Dreich did. Hadn’t they found Aviva, the spring princess, for that purpose? Found her and worked tirelessly to begin to bring balance back to the kingdom? His brother was fully aware of the need for seasons, which was why these negotiations were so frustrating. But Aestes couldn’t pass up a chance to give Dreich a hard time.

Still, they were close to reaching an agreement. Very close. And even though it wasn’t perfect, it would suffice. Aestes would get a few more weeks to keep the world in summer, and then the days would fall to Dreich.

Dreich drew in another long breath, frustrated now with more than just his brother. If only there were a way to ease out of the heat and into the cold. Some kind of moderation between Aestes’s summer temperatures and Dreich’s winter ones. The extremity caused havoc and hardship for the farmers, the fishermen, the builders—anyone whose livelihood was subject to the weather. So, basically, everyone.

“You know how to fix this—for good. You could end these annual negotiations too. You just have to find the princess,” Lord Teller said, joining the prince.

Dreich frowned. “Don’t start with that now. We’ve nearly got Aestes to agree to a treaty.”

“For this year.”

Dreich threw out a look as frosty as any winter he’d ever lorded over.

But Teller had been his friend far too long to be intimidated by ice. “With the autumn princess we could bring balance back for good.”

“Feel free to find her, Telly,” Dreich snapped. “Haven’t I looked? Haven’t we all looked?”

Ten years ago, when they’d finally found the spring princess, everyone had been full of hope. With Dreich lording over winter, his brother over summer, and Aviva over spring, surely the kingdom was on its way to its former glory. Surely the balance they all needed—the balance that had been lost for so long—was coming. For surely the autumn princess would be close behind. But a decade had passed, and the autumn princess was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Liza traced the edge of her mug. “I came by for a reason,” she said after a long while.

Her smile had faded, and Callie sat up straighter, frowning.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Leo and the kids?”

“Yes, we’re all…okay. But we’re moving.”

There was a long silence. Callie blinked, a haze settling over the room.

“What?” Had she misheard?

“Farming is just too hard. The summer’s too long, and the winter’s too cold. Leo’s tired of everything feeling like a fight. He wants to try life in the port cities. There’s good money out there. Lots of jobs.”

Callie’s eyes filled with tears.

“I was devastated when he first mentioned it. I cried for four days straight. I kept hoping something would change. That’s why I haven’t said anything.” Liza stared down at her hands. “I even started thinking that maybe this would be the year someone will find the autumn princess.”

Callie felt the weight of Liza’s words—something heavy and hard and more complicated than grief—descend on her heart. But she pushed against it, pushed back every thought but one. “You’re leaving me.”

Liza was leaving. Just like their other friends had been forced to do.

“I wish we weren’t. But we just can’t afford to stay. I thought about asking you to come with us.” Liza laughed weakly. “They need artists by the sea too.”

Callie glanced away from Liza’s hopeful look, her own guilt building.

“That’s okay, I know it’s impossible,” Liza rushed on. “You love this cabin. This forest. And, honestly, I can’t imagine you living in a city. It’d be too loud and busy.”

That was the crux of the whole problem. Callie didn’t want a loud life. She didn’t want a busy life. Her full name, Calida, might mean fire, but she didn’t want fire. She wanted this small, tender world she had built for herself. She wanted to stay here, where it was familiar, where her evenings were without worry, and her days were filled with calm. She wanted her friends to stop by, to trade their goods for her crafts, to sip tea and share soup. She wanted things to stay the way they were. Easy, comfortable, and quiet. Not like the cities.

And not like…another place she would not let herself think of.

* * *

Two weeks later, Liza gave Callie her last hug. A hug that was both too tight and not tight enough. Callie squeezed with all her might, and still Liza slipped away. There were promises, and nods, hands brushing away tears, and more promises. And then there was only the clop of the horses and the rumble of the wagon fading into a silence that was nothing like the quiet Callie wanted.

At first, Callie kept busy enough to keep her biggest feelings at bay. She read and painted, sewed and knit more than ever. She even tried her hand at wood carving. The days passed, and her stock of artisan goods grew. So did her burden.

There was sadness, of course, and loneliness. But heavier than all that was the guilt. Liza had left, as all her friends had left, because of hardship. And somewhere, in a deep-down place that Callie did not want to go, she worried that she bore some blame. This little forest life was perfect, but at what cost? Could she have eased some suffering, if she’d chosen to?

No. It would be hard. Too hard.

* * *

 

The forest wasn’t a place where Callie normally found solace, especially at this time of year, when the leaves were dying and the sky was scorching. But as the days passed, the cabin became more and more stifling, too full of quilts and ceramics and heavy thoughts.

She took a walk, trying to escape it all, and found herself wandering toward the forest’s edge. There, still sheltered by the trees, she gazed out at the palace. It was a beautiful structure, elegant and grand, with turrets rising above its stone walls. There were four wings—one for the ruler of every season—and a throne room in the center that the rulers shared. One wing for Dreich, the winter prince. Another for Aestes, the summer prince. A third for Aviva, the spring princess. And a fourth for…

Callie didn’t let herself think about the empty wing. Its shuttered windows weren’t in view here, anyway.

But she couldn’t ignore the landscape before her. In the spring and early summer, the green hills and brilliant streams made this one of the prettiest views in the realm. In the winter, it would be blanketed in white and cuffed with sparkles, glittering and magical. But now, after so long a summer, the trees and grass were brown, dying under the heat. The river seemed colorless too, and there was little beauty anywhere.

For just a moment, Callie allowed her artist’s eye to take over. She let herself imagine the scene in full color. How would it look in red and gold? Orange here, some yellow there? It would look gorgeous, she knew, lingering over the idea. Gorgeous, gorgeous, the dying leaves seemed to murmur.

A glance around, assured her that she was entirely alone. A long look at the palace. A pause. Another glance around. Should she? Just a few? A few, a few. She drew a deep breath. And then she focused her attention on some trees behind the palace and sent a slow breath their way.

Moments passed as the wind carried her breath, and then the trees transformed. An awed smile broke across her face. The reds, oranges, golds. It was just as she had imagined. Gorgeous, gorgeous.

 Out of nowhere came a shock of icy air, so strong and fierce that it nearly knocked Callie over. Disoriented, she looked around. She was still alone. Another blast hit her squarely in the face. She squinted in its direction. There was movement by the palace. A horse and rider were moving in her direction. Surely they couldn’t see her from this distance. Could they? Were they coming here? Callie had more than enough time to escape, but she panicked all the same.

Another icy blast came, and she understood it for what it was: a warning to stay, to be there when the rider arrived.

Callie fled.

* * *

Dreich might not know who was atop that far precipice, but he couldn’t help but hope it was the autumn princess. How else could he explain the blaze of colors gracing the palace trees? He fought his desire to stay and examine the red and orange leaves. It was a miracle he’d longed to see in person even as a boy. But now was not the time to linger. He’d had the good luck to be outside when the transformation happened, to glimpse that far-off figure, and he knew better than to waste this opportunity. He urged his bay in the direction of the forest and the hint of a human shape. He tried to imprint the figure’s location in his mind, tried to keep the course as he wove down the paths, down one hill and up another.

Once he was far enough into the forest, tracking the girl—Dreich was sure it must have been the missing princess—turned out to be easier than he’d expected. In her haste, she’d left a trail of leaves, beacons on the ground, behind her—red and orange and gold and bright. He followed them until he found himself before a small, secluded cabin.

He dismounted and approached, peeking cautiously in a window. He could hardly breathe at what he saw. Garlands of leaves, racks of quilts, candles, blankets, and more—all in a clear celebration of autumn. Had she been here all along? Hiding? Why? He caught a glimpse of her then. She was scrambling around inside, throwing things into a valise.

Dreich didn’t dare wait. He tried the door, and when it opened, he stepped in.

The girl—nay, a woman—jumped in surprise. She was older than he had expected, likely his own age or thereabouts. Her frame was tall, her profile elegant, and her hair was thrown up in a mess of escaping tendrils. She also had the brightest amber eyes he had ever seen—eyes that were wide and wary and on him.

“Who are you?” they said at the same time.

“Never mind.” Again at the same time.

“Stop that.” Again.

“What—” Together again.

* * *

Callie huffed. Her surprise at seeing an intruder in her cabin was quickly giving way to annoyance.

“I’m Dreich,” the man hurried to say, perhaps sensing her irritation.

“Dreich who?” she asked, as if it were possible not to know.

But of course Callie knew. Did anyone not know the prince? Even in this forest, the stories found a way. So Callie knew all about the princes and their searches for the princesses. First the spring princess then the autumn one. And she knew what this prince thought he’d found.

She eyed her valise and tried to calculate. Could she grab it and make it out the door? And that forced her to really examine the man in front of her for the first time. His hair was dark, a stark contrast to his pale skin, and his eyes were bright and blue. Not an icy blue, like Callie might’ve guessed if she’d ever thought to, but a rich, deep hue. The color of vast things—midnight skies and oceans. It wasn’t a color Callie used much, and she had a flicker of a thought that she might be missing out. But more important was his height and breadth. He was basically a giant, and he was filling up more of the doorway than Callie liked. It would be hard to get past that.

“The winter prince?” Dreich prompted.

There was a pause. He seemed to expect Callie to say something in return. Probably to introduce herself. That wasn’t happening.

“Well, thanks for coming by,” she said brightly, gesturing to the door.

“Who are you?” he asked again, a slow, fascinated smile spreading over his face.

“Just a regular person who lives here.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Who hides here, you mean.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I do. I hide here. In this small cabin, in a small life that I love.”

As she said the words, a twinge of unease came over her. She’d had a life she loved. But did she love it now? Liza was gone. So were the others. It seemed like forever since anyone had stopped by. Her paintings and quilts were piling up, untraded and unnecessary. The quiet sometimes felt more lonely than cozy, and an odd listlessness was beginning to take over. But Dreich didn’t need to know any of that.

He was looking around the room, taking in all that he saw, and he gentled his tone when he spoke again.

“The trees look lovely. At the palace. The ones you changed.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.” She winced a little.

“Maybe not. But here we are.”

“Look, I’d make a terrible princess,” she blurted out. “I’m just—” She gestured around the room, to the clutter and chaos, as if that completed the sentence.

“Messy?”

She bristled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“That tracks, though, doesn’t it?” he said. “I mean, autumn definitely is messier than winter.”

“Only because you get a nice snowy blanket to throw on top of the chaos. It’s literally a cover-up.”

He shot her a cocky grin. “Indeed.”

“Must be nice.”

“You tell me.”

“Well, obviously I prefer colors to some monochromatic…gild!”

“It’s obviously because you’re the autumn princess.”

Callie glared a moment before finding her voice. “Actually, I’m a painter. And a knitter. And a reader. And a woodworker.” She paused. “Possibly. I’m still trying that one out,” she admitted. Dreich’s eyes lit with intrigue, and he looked as though he would ask more, but she went on. “I’m those things. Not a princess.”

“Interesting that you think you can’t be those things and a princess.”

“Being royalty seems like a full-time gig.”

“I suppose it is. Especially these days. But then again, I’m a prince, and a reader, and an archer, and a skier, and—”

“A poet?” she deadpanned, catching his near rhyme.

He broke into a deep laugh at that, hearty and real, and Callie couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.

“I was going to say and a grand chess master,” he countered. “If I am possibly an aspiring poet, that’s only for my friends to know.”

He picked up some leaves off the floor and set them on the fireplace mantle, turning more serious again. “I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s all free time. We do have rich lives, I think—I hope—but of course there are responsibilities and decisions and—”

“That’s what I don’t want.”

“Responsibilities and decisions?”

Callie nodded.

“Ah. Well.” He paused. “I suppose, in that case, hiding probably is your best option.”

She blinked, dumbfounded.

“There’s no point in enthroning a princess who won’t face her responsibilities or help Aestes, Aviva, and me make decisions. We have a kingdom to care for. Not just the seasons, but the people, the way they live, the legacy we leave. We’re trying to do good things here, help people live good lives.”

Liza and Leo flashed through Callie’s head, their hardship in farming, their migration to the port cities. How were they doing there? Mail delivery was slow, and Callie had heard nothing from her friend yet. Was life better? Easier? Were they happy, or was it only a different kind of survival?

“Sacrifice and joy aren’t mutually exclusive,” Dreich said after a moment. “And joy can be found in more than one place. It’s possible to give up something you value and still gain something greater in return. I don’t just mean the satisfaction of doing your duty or knowing you’re doing something for the greater good. There is that, yes, but there’s something more intrinsic too. I’m not sure I can even explain it. I just know that who I am is most at peace in my position.”

Who I am is most at peace in my cabin, Callie wanted to say, but somehow the words got stuck in her throat.

Dreich had moved to the window and was looking out at the dying trees. He was quiet for a few moments, and Callie watched him warily. She understood the point he was trying to make, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything else he might add.

But he seemed occupied with other thoughts now. “Can you do the forest?” he asked, turning to face her. “I’ve always wanted to see a full autumn. Like you hear stories about.”

Callie bit her lip. Could he sense how badly she wanted that too? How the brownness nearly killed her every year? She’d always been afraid that someone would find her, so she’d never dared to touch the trees outside. Only a few boughs that she brought indoors every autumn. But was there really any harm?

“If I do, will you leave?” she asked. “I’m not a princess. I just want to go back to my life.”

He looked as though he might argue, but then he gave a thoughtful nod. “Okay.”

Callie made her way to the door and stepped out. He followed her. All the brown became briefly overwhelming. It was too much. She glanced over at Dreich, but he didn’t seem to share any of her distress. Instead, he rubbed his hands gleefully and shot her an encouraging, eager, oddly boyish smile. The minute the thought landed that he was excited, she realized that she was too. She returned his smile and took in a long, deep breath.

She held the breath for a moment, teasing him with the anticipation, and then she blew it across the trees. Dreich and Callie watched in reverence as the leaves were transformed into a deep, passionate red—a red that had proven impossible for Callie to replicate in any of her crafts.

* * *

Dreich left as promised, but Callie lingered outside for a long time. She walked among the trees, tracing their bark, catching leaves that fluttered down. A deep contentment settled upon her. This glorious canopy was where she belonged.

“No!” she cried out, startled by her own thoughts. She did not belong here. She belonged—

That world is gone, something seemed to argue. Gone, gone, agreed the leaves.

Callie fled back to her cabin then, away from the rustling and whispers. But her contentment fled too. Even as she crossed the threshold, she knew. Whatever peace she’d found under the fiery foliage, it would not follow her here. Here, the quiet was only empty, and her attempts at creating autumn indoors seemed paltry and weak.

She made her way to her back room, to the trunk that she had planned never to open. She had been told once, long ago, what was in the trunk and how it would only lead to hardship, and that had been enough. She had buried the trunk under everything she could and determined to forget all about it.

But now she opened the closet and began pulling out quilts, boxes, clothing, and countless art supplies. All the things the trunk was hiding under. Finally, she reached it. She tugged it out and gingerly lifted the lid.

She gasped when she saw what was inside. A brilliant royal garment in that same magnificent, impossible shade of red. She lifted it out and felt her heart softening in wonder and admiration. How often had she tried to create this color? How many dyes? How many paints? And she had come close, but it had never been right. Never like the trees had been. Never like this. Unbidden, her fingers traced its fabric and beadwork, confirmed its quality, admired its handiwork.

Perhaps it was the artist in her that surrendered first. The garment was a masterpiece. How could she not try it on? Once it was on, everything else fell into place. It fit her. Its weight was a comfort; its softness was a balm. There were shoes too—not dainty ballroom slippers, but tall, soft, red-brown leather boots with elaborate embroidery all around. They raised her feet just high enough so that the skirts lifted off the floor, swishing as she walked around the room. Carefully, slowly, she freed her hair from its messy bun and pulled it into a style worthy of the gown. Then she made her way back outside. This was where this gown belonged. Outside, alongside that sense of peace, of rightness.

She meandered through the forest until she reached the edge. The palace and its grounds, still dismal and brown except for those few trees she’d touched, beckoned to her.

A smattering of hooves interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to see Dreich, Aestes, and Aviva approaching on horseback. Silver, gold, and green gazing at her with wonder, delight, and relief. Dreich was watching her with a fond, curious smile. How different from the exuberance on Aestes’s face—amused and cocky. Aviva was beaming, and Callie thought she saw sympathy mixed in with the hope. Perhaps Aviva remembered this moment, remembered how all this felt.

Had anyone else been there, introductions might have been made. But somehow, Callie knew that with just the four of them, no introductions were needed. She knew who they were and what they wanted her to do.

Callie cast another glance at Dreich, and his eyes met hers with something tender and confident. It was a confidence that settled her, reassured her. It echoed the peace she had found in the forest and grounded her next steps.

She returned his smile, relaxed her shoulders, and faced out across the hills. Then she took a deep breath and ignited the land into color.