Literally came to me at this late hour. A beloved favored story by Hans Christian Andersen growing up—with a little zest.

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  It was the Golding of the Leaves, the gilded woodlands shimmering with an iridescense. The crisp winds nipped at Thumbelina's cheeks as the coppered leaves swirled around her. Perched on a maple leaf, the folds of her maroon velvet dress rippled in the breeze while her bright eyes sparkled with true fascination. As witness to nature unfolding as King Colbert and Queen Tabitha dusted the lands with the new season.

Autumn.
 
The scent of honeysuckle and cinnamon laced the air, permeating her senses and sending warm tingles through the nerve endings of her gossamer wings. They glistened in the burnished sunlight dappling the eaves that early morn'.

  Finally, her prince arose. "Thumbelina," he whispered, his breath a tender lover's caress against her skin. His arms encircled her and pulled her close. His long legs, sheathed in velvet, cocooned hers, drawing her into his warmth while sitting behind her.

  "Morning, Cornelius," she sighed, the contentment prominent in her voice as she leaned back. It had been nearly six wonderful months since being married to the Prince of the Autumn Court. Still she didn't have a single regret in accepting his hand. Whenever she thought of that day and how he'd rescued her from the Mr. Mole of the Undergrounds, her love for the fae prince only deepened.

  "Morning, my love," he whispered, the rich timbre of his voice heady, like simmering embers poised to ignite with the slightest spark. "Are you enjoying this Golden Hour of Autumn?"

  "Oh, yes," she exclaimed, nuzzling her chilled nose into the crook of his neck. He smelled of honeysuckle and the crisp taste of fresh apples off the orchard. An enticing scent she'd never once taken for granted upon remembering how close of a draw it had come between a jealous toad named Grundel who'd harbored an unhealthy fixation for her, to the Berkeley Beetle who'd had his wings torn in his own pursuits.

She hadn't heard even an inkling of their whereabouts since the day she'd officially become the princess of the Autumn fae.

  Perhaps, it was better that way.

  "Oh, Thumbelina," he breathed with that same reverence he'd held for her since their beginning. His his hands gently threaded through her long golden hair, braided with gilded leaves that crowned her head—his beloved princess. "As tempted as I am to steal you away this first morning of the new Autumn, I believe Buzzbee has been itching to take flight." Soft laughter warm as the rays followed, tinged with both longing and the slightest hint of playful reluctance.

  Thumbelina giggled, recalling the fuzzy bumblebee that had been her prince's loyal steed and steadfast companion through countless adventures. She pulled away slightly, her gaze locking with those warm hazel eyes that beckoned her to the Vale where their villa awaited and greatest passions were shared. Her slender fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, gently brushing back a strand of crimson hair that had fallen from his tousled locks.

  "Let us not keep him waiting, then," she murmured with a smile. "We have all the time in the world."

  As if in answer a faint buzz resounded from around the wild oak tree.

  Cornelius chuckled softly, flashing an assured grin. "Perhaps you're right, my love. But tonight..." His voice dropped to a whisper as he pulled her close, his eyes locking onto hers with that deep intense gaze reserved for her alone like when they'd become lost in the stars the night of their wedding. He stroked her hip slowly, letting his fingers linger in familiar practice, while the tip of his wing brushed against her cheek, soft as spider silk. "Tonight, we'll celebrate under the silver of the stars once more, just you and I..." His words simmered with promise, painting a lovely poetry of his anticipation.

  Thumbelina smiled shyly, feeling her cheeks flush a rosy hue as his hands tightened around her waist. "I'd like nothing more than that my handsome Prince."

  The days of being newlyweds were still fresh in her mind from what Queen Tabitha and Mother joked as the "honeymoon phase".  Even Jaquimo, her beloved French sparrow, had laid out a sonnet about lovers he observed from his bird's-eye view in Paris.

  Cornelius grinned, while his pointed ears twitched with delight, the mischievous glint of the fae in his eyes. "Just you wait, my, Princess Thumbelina," he murmured, his voice laced with playful anticipation as his lips found her's. "Just you wait..."

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